


Like Real People Do

by Jellyrump



Category: Clone High
Genre: But then they actually talk, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mild Angst, Miscommunication, Not Actually Unrequited Love, References to Depression, References to selfharm but its incredibly vague, U cant tell me Van Gogh JFK and Joan wouldn’t have the best friend group, oblivious gays, pure gay/bi/lesbian solidarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jellyrump/pseuds/Jellyrump
Summary: Vincent stayed up in the late hours of the night questioning the reason for his existence.JFK tried to eat a sloppy joe with the arm he had wrapped around Cleo.They were different, to say the very least.
Relationships: Cleopatra & Joan of Arc (Clone High), Cleopatra & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), JFK & Joan of Arc (Clone High), JFK/Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High), Joan of Arc & Vincent Van Gogh (Clone High)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 94





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a couple of weeks now, so I'm proud to present the first chapter of "Writer In The Dark"! 
> 
> Possible TW for mentions of bullying and harassment
> 
> The title is based on the song of the same name by Hozier

Sleep, such a lovely solitude, a free trial of the endless afterlife where you could create any world you wanted. Sadly, Vincent wasn't allowed much of it, with his habit of staying up painting or staring at his ceiling and his 6 am alarm.

He couldn't help it though, something was so entrancing about questioning the entire meaning of your existence at 2 am on a Tuesday night. It's not like he had much to do at school anyways other than scrape by in any classes that weren't extracurricular.

Sitting up and looking out his window, Vincent rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wondering what paints would work best to capture the sunrise.

He started to get ready for school, brushing his teeth to at the very least save his mom the money of a dentist trip and sliding on his favorite blue cardigan. After changing the bandage around his head, he gently placed his art supplies into his bag and headed downstairs. 

He carefully avoided the kitchen and the sounds of his foster mom's favorite talk show as he slid out the front door to start his trek.

Vincent smiled, his music accompanying him as he walked to school. The idea of being trapped in any sort of motor vehicle with a bunch of people who would love to beat him half to death was not as appealing as most probably would have thought.  
If he was going to die it was not going to be by the hands of some jock who reeked of body odor and had his tongue down someone's throat 23 hours out of the day.

His thoughts were interrupted by a jeer as a car slowed next to him.

"Hey, soulless, Why don't you get in my car and we can go somewhere private!" Hamilton yelled as his friends cheered him on, Vincent did what he always did, put his head down and walked slightly faster.

Of course he got bullied for being a ginger as well as gay, not that they knew that he is gay. The fact that he and his clone father were both artists was all they needed to know to harass him relentlessly.

And it wasn't like Hamiltom wasn't a redhead himself. Vincent supposed the "rules" were different for popular kids compared to "sad nerds" like him.

As he reached the front doors Vincent took a deep breath, ready to face the next level of hell incarnate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Laughter filled his ears as Jfk walked through the front doors. Cleo hung off his side and an entourage of people crowded around them.

"Oh, JFK, you're so funny!" Cleo said, fluttering her eyelashes the way she always did when she wanted his attention.

"I know." JFK had no clue what he said, figuring he just didn’t get it, but he eventually picked up on what everyone else was laughing at.

"You know that scrawny, depressing, gay kid?" Alex asked, a shit-eating smirk on his face.

"Er uh- no?" He didn't remember many people other than himself, Cleo, Joan, Abe, and er uh… Ponce.

"Van Gogh?" Cleo tried clarifying. She really was quite smart, though JFK supposed he never took the time to appreciate that about her.

"Yes! On our way here I.. 'propositioned' him." 

"Tell them what you yelled, Ham!"

"I asked him 'hey, soulless? Why don't you get in my car and we can go somewhere private?' " Hamilton's hype man doubled over laughing, though JFK wasn't entirely sure why.

"Nice… lay?" 

Everyone stopped, for some reason.

"No! No, that's gay."

"Well, I- er uh- applaud you for your- uh- bravery!" JFK smiled vacantly.

"JFK… he was making fun of Van Gogh for being gay." Cleo explained. Oh?

"Well, I for one, think that if you worked hard enough you could get him to go out with you!" He still wasn't entirely sure what was happening. 

Making fun of him? For being gay?

His foster dad's were gay, and there was even that one time he was into Jean D'arc. But then again he never thought to make fun of them for it and Jean turned out to be Joan of Arc… was he missing prime material?

While JFK figured it out he supposed that the other man might just need a boost to figure it out.

"You know what man… that would be hilarious! Man, JFK. You're a genius!"

"... thank you?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, lunch time.

Vincent prepared to hide behind the school to eat. He used to hide in the bathroom before he got called a peeve, but at least it didn't smell as bad outside.

The entire walk outside he felt like someone was watching him. It wasn't rare for him to be followed and beaten up, he'd just like one day without incident.

Vincent heard someone approach as he sat against the wall, and if you listened close enough you could probably hear him regret his entire existence.

"Hey, Van Gogh." Alexander Hamilton- who was there for some odd reason- said as he sat down next to him.  
He had no clue as to why he was there, but as far as he knew he was not on the list of "people he could trust" given his stunt this morning, and pretty much every other time.

"Oh, wh-what are you doing here?" Vincent questioned, feeling his heart pick up pace. Hamilton pondered the question as he looked at the trees behind the school.

"I wanted to apologize for what I did earlier. I shouldn't have done that."  
Oh… he supposed that was quite nice.

"Well, the pain of existing doesn't ever cease. Perhaps I deserve torture…" Vincent attempted to make him leave, it always made people go away when he spoke his mind.

"...Ok," he furrowed his brow, but Hamilton just wouldn’t leave, "... i also wanted to warn you."

Vincent perked up at this, it was rare he got a heads up before being harrassed. Part of him wondered if it was a warning regarding him, though.

"What is it?" He asked, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.

"This morning I heard JFK talking about asking you out as a joke, I wanted to make sure that you got a heads up. I'd hate to see you hurt like that."

Of course. After all, Vincent was only a joke. 

"Oh... thanks."

"It's no problem. I've gotta head back but I'll see you around?" He stood up, looking at Vincent for a response.

"Yeah... sure."

The guy walked away, sneakers scuffing as he did. As soon as he was out of reach Vincent buried his face in his hands. He never thought the bullying would ever go as far as manipulation. He thought it'd stop when his ribs bruised, not his heart.

Any appetite he may have convinced himself of having for the bag of grapes in his bag evaporated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JFK was currently trying to bite into his sloppy joe without spilling any onto Cleo's shirt, seeing as his arm was around her.

"Seriously, JFK, just switch hands." Cleo tried pushing the sandwich away, but JFK persisted.

"No! I've- uh- got this."

Alex rolled his eyes.

"So, how do I convince Vincent Van Gogh to go out with me?" He chimed in.

"Maybe try just being yourself? That's what my gay foster dads always tell me" JFK offered, once again met with silence.

"... as a joke."

"Whatever you say, man."

The discussion continued while JFK thought, specifically about what his fellow popular teen saw in Vincent Van Gogh. 

He was small, he could consider that a plus.  
He has messy, ginger hair that always seems quite nicely tousled, but JFK wasn't quite sure it was on purpose. He'd seen him pull on his hair whenever he got anxious.  
His sweaters being oversized added to his small and needs protection vibe along with the depressed artist one. And from what he'd seen JFK would assume he was an amazing artist.

Er… he totally didn't see it.

The sloppy joe endeavor ended with his white stripe being given a new stain and Cleo sending him off to change, but as JFK was about to go to his locker Joan approached him.

"Hey, pretty lady! Why don’t you and I have some quality time? and by quality time I mean SEX!" He flinched, expecting to be wacked in the face, but was instead met with a very stern looking Joan of Arc. "... what"

"Hamilton can't ask Vincent out."

"What are you? Uh- Homophobic?" JFK asked, putting his hands on his hips as Joan dragged a hand down her face.

"No, you idiot himbo. Vincent is too fragile to be used for a joke like that. And im absolutely not homophobic, for future reference. "

"Uh- joke?"

"Yes, dimwit. Your 'friend' wants to ask Vincent out as a joke. Like he said this morning, literally right in front of you."

"I just thought he was bragging about hitting it."

"Dear God, you are hopeless."

"I've heard that before!"

"Ok, you know what? Do you want to help me stop him from asking Vincent out?"

Well, if he was doing it as a joke it might be funny… No! He remembers the last time he did that, the poor girl cried and it made him really uncomfortable.

"Ok! I'll help ya."

"Great. I can probably work with this."

He finally changed his shirt right before the bell rang. With not much time before class he ran down the halls, even getting cheered for at one point.

When JFK arrived at his next class he noticed the aforementioned redheaded boy sitting in the back row.

Since when did he sit there? For the same matter, since when was he in this class? Before he could think it through- as through as JFK could think, at least- he was headed to Van Gogh's seat.

"Hey! Er uh- Van Gogh, right?" He asked slightly too loud, Van Gogh flinched the moment he started speaking.

"Um… yeah. That's me." He avoided any sort of eye contact, or really looking at him in general.

"Cool! I was just wondering, since when were you in this class? I don't think I've ever- uh- seen you here before." Vincent was quiet for a long second. JFK was about to repeat his question when he finally answered.

"...I've been here since the start of the school year." Oh, oops.

"Oh! i- er uh- just hadn't noticed you before. What with you're being very small and quiet and all."

"Y-yes, I suppose i am very unnoticeable." Van Gogh responded, the least audible he had been the whole conversation. Though he had been quiet for most of it.

"Well, I- er uh- will just go sit down now. In the second row. Chair farthest to the left. With the initials 'JFK' carved into it… later!" JFK felt weirdly embarrassed, his goal was to save the kid some heartbreak and he totally botched any chance of trust by being his normal idiot self.

Dammit, he'll have to look up what "himbo" means. Whatever it is, Joan's probably right.


	2. The himbofication of JFK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JFK and Joan plan while Vincent figures out what the hell to do with his gay idiot self.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for (extremely) brief mentions of SH, depression and things relating to it.
> 
> As well as some minor situation with JFK hitting on Joan. Nothing too bad happens but its referenced that the attention is extremely unwanted on Joan's part.
> 
> I implore you to not read if that will in any way be triggering for you. I care about the well beings of my viewers and would hate for anything to happen to any of them.

Yeah, JFK was a himbo.

He wanted to ask his dads before he looked anything up. It sounded like gay slang and he'd rather not have another twink incident.

"Hey- er uh- dads? Someone called me a 'himbo' today and I was- uh- wondering what that means?" Jfk scratched the back of his neck. 

It really was quite embarrassing having to ask people for help with everything. JFK just didn't catch on very quickly.

He saw the tears welling up in their eyes as Carl reached for his shoulder and Wally clasped a hand over his mouth.

"Someone called you a himbo?" Wally asked

"Er uh- yeah, Joan of Arc called me a himbo while we were planning how to stop someone from asking out Vincent Van Gogh. As a joke… To be mean."

"Oh, JFK!" Carl started, "that's wonderful! I'm so proud of you." And before he knew it, a group hug formed.

"Uh, thanks." After being released he went up to his room to Google it, since he didn't really get an answer.

_Him•bo_  
_An attractive but unintelligent man_

Hmm, that made sense he supposed.  
It hurt a little to know Joan would out right call him dumb, but it also wasn't put of character… maybe urban dictionary had a different definition.

_Him-bo_  
_A man who is generally stupid, but tries hard to be a respectful man_

Oh! It meant more or less the same thing, but he liked that one better. So… it was a compliment!

Maybe he had a chance at finally sleeping with Joan. It wasn't as appealing as it used to be, but a lay was a lay and she seemed to be warming up to him, especially if she called him a himbo.

JFK dialed the number before thinking too much, and soon Joan answered.

"How'd you get this number?" She groaned as she spoke.

"So, I uh looked up what himbo meant."

"I'm surprised you could even spell it."

"And I just wanted to say thank you! And also ask if you wanted to come over."

"JFK, I'm really not interested." 

Awe, she's embarrassed!  
JFK thought for a moment, Joan seemed like a subtle kinda girl. Subtle definitely wasn't JFK's strong suit, but he could play at it for her.

"Well, uh- I wanted you to come over so we could- uh- plan how to help Van Gogh! Yeah! The poor sap wouldn't be able to live with the heartbreak and we need a plan." A fat pause melted across JFK's brain before Joan finally responded.

"That's… surprisingly smart of you. And almost absolutely an excuse. I'll be there in 30, but just to plan." 

"Ok! See ya then!" Yes! Now he just had to set up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The walk home was surprisingly quiet. No bullies yelling at him from cars. You know, just one following him.

"I just want to make sure you get home safe." He had said at the school doors, asking Vincent if he could walk him home. He wanted to say no, but he didn't have anything else to do...

Part of him was worried that he simply wanted to know where he lived. It'd be much easier for people to harass him if they could just meet him at the front door… Vincent turned towards Hamilton a block away from his house.

"You can leave me here, I'm not far from home."

"No, it's alright. I don't mind walking you the whole way."

Shit. Of course that's what he would say. Vincent felt the anxiety bubble in his throat.

"No, it's ok. I would prefer to spend my walks thinking about the inevitably of one's demise." If he was going down he was going down with a backbone, or something resembling one.

Hamilton paused for a moment, gears turning in his head about what to say next. Vincent could swear he saw the smoke coming out of his ears.

Finally, he smiled.

"Alright, see you tomorrow at school."

And against everything he knew, Vincent felt his face flush, and he was so mad at himself. No way. He was not going to fall at any capacity for the jock that had catcalled him as a joke that morning.

All the sirens went off in his head the rest of the block. Logically, Vincent knew that this was bad. A scheme of some sort to embarrass him. But emotionally, it was nice.

Nice to be acknowledged, to be paid attention to. Of course, JFK had noticed him earlier in English, but he already knew to be wary of him. He knew for sure he was scheming, Hamilton had said so.

Who was he kidding? He'd already proven himself untrustworthy in the past, but now he was the only one besides Joan to look out for him.

Two people to look out for him, a record. He'd been alone the past two years of highschool and now? Two whole people.

It was in no way the best option, possibly even the worst, but maybe Vincent was ready to not be alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Candles flickered on JFK's nightstand. Joan groaned once more as JFK tried another pickup line.

"JFK, I've said it a million times. I'm. Not. Interested."

"Ya know. I hear what you're saying but I see what you're thinking." Joan sighed, closing her eyes.

"No, dude! You're going to listen to me when I speak. No 'but your heart!' Bullshit," she blew out a candle, "no 'but your body says…' bullshit," she blew out two more, "And no 'but I want' bull shit!" She blew out the rest angrily, spitting quite a bit as she did.

JFK felt himself back up.

"I- er uh-"

"So stop hitting on me! I've told you to stop before and the next time I have to you're losing a nut." He felt the flush rise to his face. 

She was right. He felt like an absolute ass, probably because he _was_ an absolute ass.

JFK decided that if she called him a himbo, he should start acting like one. Maybe it'd be better to keep things professional anyways, for Van Gogh.

"Er uh, you're right. I'll- uh. stop."

Joan looked up, surprise evident in her expression, and JFK felt even more of a flush. It was that bad? He needed to stop being so insistent. There was always the allure of trying to get the one girl who didn't want him to want him, but maybe it was better if he just left it as is. Leave the mystery of it all up to his imagination.

Joan snapped out of it, taking a deep breath.

"Good. So, it's clear that Hamilton is planning on asking Vincent out to humiliate him, but to get him to say yes he'll have to build trust."

"What if we kept them apart?"

"...Yeah. Yeah that's smart. I'm already friends with him, so it shouldn't be too weird. You, however, have bullied him."

He had? He couldn't think of ever shoving him into a locker, or saying that he should just kill himself like the first Van Gogh. But… his friends had. And he supposed by extension and just being there he was sort of part of it too.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll have to- uh- apologize to him. I'll even become his friend to make up for it!"

"I was gonna say you could intercept on the other side, but whatever you want, JFK."

And for once, when someone said that he didn't immediately think of postions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent's after school routine began as soon as he walked through the front door.

Get home, change into depression clothes, grab a bottle of water to complete the bare minimum of taking care of himself, and paint.

Of course, his art never came out quite right, it couldn't even hold a torch to the original Van Gogh. But there was always a sweetness in not being the same, the same that there was a bitterness.

He was split in between being an exact replica and taking his fate to be his own. Both were appealing, but seemingly tragic to some extent.

And he was lucky that his foster mom always praised his work, even when it concerned her. She knew it was an outlet, and after she took away his previous until only scars remained he poured everything he had into this one.

Speaking of, it was almost dinner time and he'd have to take his meds soon. His mom had started to keep them in her room. After a scare where he had to throw them all up they'd been taken away.

He tried to finish the sunflower he was working on before his mom knocked on his door, but art takes time and his mom does not.

"Honey, are you busy?" 

Vincent tried to finish his brush stroke before putting his brush into the cup and running his clean hand through his hair. With one quick glance at his progress he went to let his mom in.

"Not at the moment, I was just working on a painting that expressed all of the overwhelming emotions I feel."

"Oh, do you want to show it to me?" It was a genuine question. She understood how personal some of his art was, but he thought this one would be fine.

"Sure, I was just working on some sunflowers." He said as she walked in, in awe as she always was.

"Wow, Vincent… that's breathtaking." She gasped. She always had this sort of reaction, but the blush always came and the validation was as sweet as his foster mom was.

"Thank you… Could I ask for your advice on something?" Vincent really only had 3 opinions to choose from, and one of them was… quite involved.

"Of course, Honey, but let's take your meds first. Do you want to talk over dinner or would you rather stay in here?" It felt like a silly question. No one else was in the house, but it felt so much safer in his room.

"Here, please." 

After taking his medication Vincent explained the situation with Hamilton to his foster mom, feeling his face flush at the fact that it was even an issue.

"Well, Honey, I'd be wary. I know what it feels like to have someone attractive smile at you, but that's a quick flip." 

He knew his mom was right, he always knew that was the answer, but it still felt sad that the only reason someone would be kind to him was for some sort of gain. 

Then again, no one had been kind to him without something in return before.  
Back in 6th grade Cleopatra had been very nice to him, fluttering her eyelashes and wearing lower cut shirts than normal. Turns out she wanted him to paint her for free. It obviously didn't work, it did however help Vincent realise he didn't like girls.

"Thanks mom, I'll be down for dinner in a little bit." 

"Ok, Vince, I'll set the table up. Take your time painting but please eat before bed."

He stared at the sunflowers on the canvas, and realised with a lurch in his stomach that they were painted with the very last of his favorite yellow. And quite blatantly to him, he was daydreaming about Hamilton whilst painting.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> I sincerely hope that this chapter didn't hurt anyone. I may be acting too careful but I really just don't want anything to happen to anyone :(
> 
> If there are any other trigger warnings you think should be mentioned in this or any other chapter please notify me! My aim is to make content that makes myself and others happy and I would hate to cause any harm, thank you!


	3. Trees are great for panic attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JFK and Joan have a plan. Whether or not its a good one is up to debate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible TW for brief mentions of s3w3r slide. Its an insensitive comment from a Hamilton/JFK convo so that may be triggering for some viewers.
> 
> Please put your well being and mental health first and don't read if that may be harmful to you.

The previous evening rushed back to JFK as he woke, realizing he forgot to change before bed last night.

Joan had stayed for dinner- his dads being less silent than when Cleo was having dinner with them, but more silent than having no guests at all- and left soon after. JFK, exhausted from the long day, didn't bother to do much other than turn off the light before falling asleep.

After gathering the motivation, JFK took a shower, styled his hair as tall as humanly possible, and got dressed in one of his many red sweaters before he headed downstairs for a quick bite. Though he quickly realized that he had slept in a bit 

JFK shoved his slice of toast in his mouth, running out the door to catch the bus.  
Cleo eyed the toast for a moment before speaking.

"JFK, you look like an anime girl." 

He held the toast normally after that, the jocks around him jeering and calling him stupid anime words he didn't understand. He wasn't into stuff like that, more real life was his jam.

JFK saw that Hamilton was sitting across the row and remembered what Joan had said about doing stuff from the other side.

"Hey, Hamilton. I was thinking about the- uh- Van Gogh thing."

"Oh man, I got a head start. I sat with him for a bit at lunch and then I walked the poor bastard home. He was too scared to let me walk him all the way but I know what neighborhood he lives in now." He smirked, grossly proud of his achievement. If you could even call it that.

"Well, I was uh thinking. Maybe you shouldn't ask him out. as a- uh- joke, I mean." JFK scratched the back of his neck.

"JFK, you're not going soft, are you?" Cleo asked. 

The words hung slightly heavier than usual.  
He knew that Cleo didn't actually care that much, he was popular and so was she and that's all it took, but it still felt like a threat of some sort. Perhaps, a threat about a certain gangly white boy.

"No! I- er uh- just think that you… uh… wouldn't want to be the reason he killed himself!" Bingo!

"...true, that would be bad for my future biography, but it could also be an amazing twist."

Thankfully, the bus stopped before the conversation continued. JFK saw Joan talking with Abe and Gandhi. Another harder look found a certain short red head hiding behind a tree. 

JFK had to get there before Hamilton spotted him.

It was easy to push through crowds at his height. However, it wasn't easy to do it without anyone noticing. JFK could see people staring and decided to try and casually lean against the tree.

"Pst. Hey there." He spoke out of the corner of his mouth, hoping that the heads would soon turn away.

"Oh, um… hello?" Van Gogh was startled, looking around frantically and shrinking into himself. JFK wanted to reach out, but the little guy looked so scared.

"Listen, I've gotta talk to you. But no one except that Joan of Arc can know, got it?" He whispered a bit too loud.

"Wh-why?"

"Because if anyone does know you might get your feelings hurt."

"Huh?" 

"Don't worry, me and Joan are working on it. Meet us in the art room during lunch." 

The plan was to just talk to Van Gogh, a solution Joan had come up with… truth be told JFK had no clue where the art room was, but Joan did and Van Gogh must've.

"Ok?"

"Great, see ya later." And with that JFK walked to his first period.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent was having a panic attack behind the tree.

He had built up a habit of arriving as last second as he possibly could to avoid people, but everyone seemed to be late all of a sudden.

Looking at the crowd of teens reminded him of a swarm of bees and now Queen bee JFK, and Joan for some reason, wanted to meet him in the art room during lunch. He saw the dots in the corner of his eyes as he hyperventilated when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Oh God, hey. Um, breathe. In and out." Abe Lincoln spoke, Joan standing next to him.

Joan and Abe worked together to calm him down as they walked inside, Vincent assumed they were leading him to the nurse's office.

"Hey, Vincent. Has JFK talked to you yet?" She asked, Abe's eyes widened.

"You're hanging out with JFK?"

"For a good reason that I don't want to talk about right now," she turned towards Vincent, "Has he?" Vincent gulped.

"Yeah, he said to meet you guys at the art room during lunch?"

"Woah, I wasn't told about any of this."

"It doesn't concern you, Abe. And good, I promise you can trust him for now." _for now_ , great.

"Ok, but may I ask where we're headed?" Van Gogh looked around. He didn't recognize this part of the school, always having taken the same, longer path.

"It's a shortcut to homeroom. You're in the same one as us, right?" Abe asked. He wasn't, but JFK was in his and he didn't want to have another panic attack.

"Yeah." He answered, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Ok, if we run we might be able to make it." Joan said before taking off. Abe shortly followed, easily out running her. Vincent wasn't going to get anywhere with his height so he just walked, feeling smaller than ever as he did.

This was gonna be a rough day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JFK couldn't pay attention. Not that he had been able to before, but today in particular was difficult.

Van Gogh wasn't in their homeroom. Honestly though, JFK probably wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been paying attention during attendance. He didn’t even realise they shared a homeroom.

Still, it wasn’t unheard of for JFK to space out. It was fairly uneard of for it to be about a boy he was concerned for, though. Typically it was the next hottest lay, or Cleo.

He felt his face flush as he realised how worried he was, he had no reason to be and he definitely had no right to feel in any way protective.

The bell ringing pulled him out of his thoughts, and a couple of bells later it was finally lunch.

JFK split off from his normal group, telling Cleo that he had a nerd to take lunch money from. He just took the long way to the cafeteria instead.

He arrived and waited until everyone had gone inside before he walked up to Joan, who was leaning on the wall next to the door.

"You remember the plan?" She asked, she fixed herself to stand up but kept her arms crossed.

"Yep! Tell him about the joke, apologize for bullying him, and keep Hamilton away." JFK smiled, proud that he had sorted this much out.

"Good, maybe you're not such a himbo after all." The smile dropped from his face, "Nevermind." 

The walk to the art room wasn't that long and JFK was surprised to see that he walked down this hall regularly, he just never noticed the classroom with paintings in the window.

"Welp, let's do this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent was beginning to get worried.  
He had been waiting in the art room since the lunch bell rang and neither Joan nor JFK had shown up. 

Was this a prank? He wouldn't be surprised if the one person he thought he could trust who wasn't his literal mom betrayed him, like Judas and Jesus. He's the kind of person that that would happen to.  
Then again, Jesús and Judas were dating now…

Before he could spiral too much more the door opened.

"Hey, Vincent. You feeling better?" Joan asked. He almost laughed, but the dread in his stomach kept him from doing any such thing.

"Well, not really. This has been stressing me all day."

"Oh! I'm sorry, but it was important." JFK said, and he didn't seem sarcastic. In fact, he seemed quite embarrassed.

"...Ok? What is it?" They were both silent for a moment before Joan spoke up.

"We wanted to warn you about Hamilton, he wants to ask you out as a joke. JFK didn't realise at first and thought he was just gay so he may have egged him on a bit."

"To be- uh- honest, I may have given him the idea." JFK said, scratching the back of his neck. He couldn't help but notice the nervous tic, something to ensure Vincent that he was indeed a human.

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?" Vincent asked, because now there were two clear sides, and Hamilton _had_ said that it was JFK who wanted to play the prank. However, Joan was here too… It was obvious, but he didn't want to lose the chance of a potential partner. Perhaps his only one.

"Vincent, you think I would lie to you?" Joan seemed genuinely upser and Vincent felt his face flush.

"...No, at least I'd like to think that you wouldn't." As if he deserved to like anything, but if Joan wasn't lying that meant... "So… Hamilton just wants to embarrass me. Why am I surprised?"

"Im sorry, Vinnie. I could've prevented this if I wasn't such a- uh- himbo." Vincent's head shot up because number one, The JFK just called him Vinnie and two, himself a _himbo_.

That didn't quite stop the ache in his chest, stamping out whatever sprout had started to grow.

"It's… ok? I can believe that you wouldn't realize, I suppose."

"I'm also sorry for being friends with that whole group, I never thought about the fact that just because I didn't bully you when they did that I wasn't- er uh- com-pla-cent." JFK said, pronouncing complacent like he had been practicing for this sole reason.

"Oh… thank you, I appreciate that." What else was there to say? He knew the truth and the truth sucked, but at least he knew.

"We want to help keep Hamilton away from you." Joan started, JFK still proud of himself for his pronunciation, "Which is why we are offering our services as fake boyfriend or girlfriend." JFK's eyes shot wide.

"You don't have to do that! You'd start being bullied just the same as me. I'll just tell him I'm focusing on my art."

"And if he beats you to a pulp?" She countered, Vincent flushed. 

The obvious choice would be JFK since he was a guy and Vincent was very gay, but JFK was also JFK and he knew Joan better.

"There's no escaping this, is there?"

"We just want to protect you, Vincent."

Vincent took a deep breath and got off of the stool he had been sitting on.

"Give me both of your numbers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting last week! Got busy with some family stuff and i didn't have the time to edit this chapter until now. And yeah I'm gonna be cliche and do a fake dating subplot, I don't think it will be in the way some of you will be thinking though.
> 
> It probably won't be a major point in the plot. it'll be notable but not the entire story, if that makes any sense lmao
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading, thank you!!


	4. Gay, panicking, and ready to take a nap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which friendship is magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW its implied that Cleo and JFK's relationship is toxic, this is shown through exposition and Cleo being controlling. 
> 
> If that is in any way triggering please feel free to skip this chapter or to skim that scene. There's a lit of filler in this chapter anyways, so you won't miss too much.

_JFK does not remember that part of the plan._

A quick rolling of his brain trying to find that memory came up with absolutely nothing.  
Sure, he wants to help the little guy! He just wasn't sure how this would be the way.

He snapped back when Van Gogh turned to him for his phone. Vinnie? JFK had called him Vinnie in a spur of the moment, he liked nicknames and it felt nice with his accent. Like darling with a southern accent, but not really because it was a different word and accent.

Dragging himself back to reality, JFK handed Vincent his phone. He could settle on Vincent.

"You guys really don't have to do this…"

"No, we insist. We don't want Hamilton to cause you any trouble" Joan was not going to let up. She elbowed his ribs.

"Ow! Er uh- yeah! We wouldn't want you to get beaten into a pulp, like Joan said!"

Vincent looked down and JFK got the idea that he may be tearing up.

"Thanks, guys... This means a lot to me." And he hesitantly hugged them. Which was odd, but not unwelcome.

JFK had to bend down almost half his height to hug the two back, and they stood there for a moment.

It was different compared to his other friends. He mostly hung out with them because they hung out with him, but this was a choice and it felt good.

Flashing back to reality JFK realised he was squeezing them long after they had let go.

"Uh, sorry. Got lost in the moment." He scratched the back of his neck, and for the first time since anytime he could think of, JFK saw Vincent smile.

The bell rang and interrupted the friends. 

Friends. JFK liked that. He didn't feel lame, and he didn't feel worthless, this was probably the most cared for he had felt in a while. It was kinda scary, but in a good way.

"Well, I gotta head to class. See you two later." Joan said, leaving the room.

Vincent stared at his shoes for a moment before he spoke.

"Did…Did she ask you about the fake boyfriend thing beforehand?" He looked up from his shoes, but still not at JFK. Maybe he saw the surprise on his face... 

JFK didn't want Vincent to feel guilty, he'd do it if it helped, but wasn't entirely sure that it would. He'd meet the wrath of thousands of teenage girls. And Cleo.

"Well! uh- the thing is! …Er- no, she didn't. But if that's what will help i'll do it! I just uh- don't want you to have a target on your back." Vincent closed his eyes and his face went unbelievably pink, a pink that he hadn't even seen in Cleo's expensive eyeshadow pallets whenever he dabbled.

"You don't have to, it's fine."

"But, uh, aren't you gay?" Vincent sighed.

"Yeah, but that's what got me into this. Maybe if people think I'm straight they'll leave me alone, or atleast think I'm bisexual." Uh…?

"Why would they think you were a bicycle?" Vincent sighed again, like this was an inconvenience, and JFK was beginning to feel like he was being one.

"Bisexual. It means you like two genders at once, like boys and girls. I'll probably be bullied less if they think I like girls in any capacity." 

Oh, so that's what that means. He'd… never heard that before, but it made sense. A lot of sense.

"You can like boys and girls? At the same time? Man, that's a lot of screwing!"

"Yeah, it is. You should probably get to class now, JFK, or you'll be late." Vincent walked to the easel in the corner.

"What're you doing?" JFK asked, "don't you have class too?"

"...This is my class."

" _This is a class!?_ "

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent painted his embarrassment on the canvas.

He painted textured strokes of sickly orange, too-sweet pink, and some shades of red that were too familiar.

He didn't want to fake date Joan at all. It'd help, sure, but he couldn't bring himself to lie about his true self. The original Van Gogh sure wouldn't if he were still alive.  
The idea of even being able to legally be gay would be enough for him go be loud and proud. Though the research indicated that he was straight, so maybe that didn't count.

JFK wasn't much better. He was right about the target that would be put on his back, like a red flag for all the bulls in school to run at. Along with the embarrassment that it'd bring to have to fake date someone you genuinely thought was cute.  
No feelings attached, of course, just general attraction.

He didn't want to pick either, but then he'd be a sitting duck for Hamilton to take advantage of.

It all was a bad choice. Sitting behind the school, walking home, talking to Joan, talking to the hotline. This was all so complicated and he could've avoided it if he stuck to the plan. Make no friends, leave nothing behind.

But, that group hug was nice. And the insistence of watching out for Vincent, along with JFK not catching on when the hug ended. It was being known again, but different than before. He wasn't being hunted, he was being protected, there was a difference.

The painting came out nicer than he expected for what he thought was pure emotion. It was a bit of something abstract but still had a shape to it, like those ink blots they have at the therapy office.

He could see a face, an eye, a mouth, and maybe a nose, but that was about it.

When his teacher came around praising him he flushed, the feeling of validation back. The day suddenly felt warm in memory. Not like the morning, which felt more blue, now it was his favorite shade of yellow. 

He wanted to feel it more often.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When JFK found his typical group again Cleo smacked him.

"Where were you? Everyone saw me alone." She had fire in her eyes, and her nails were freshly done.

"Uh, when I was taking the loser's lunch money Scudworth found me and gave me a detention?" He flinched, putting his arms in front of his face.

"...Really?"

"...Yes?" Cleo paused, looked him in the eyes, and hugged him.

"Oh, JFK, i'm sorry you got caught." She cooed, like she was attempting to make him forget the slap.

"It's, er uh, ok."

She walked him to his next class, which was still English. Vincent was in this one, he knew that now, and he was going to sit next to him.

Cleo left him at the door, another guy coming to walk her. When he walked in he almost choked on his breath. Hamilton had taken the seat next to Vincent, who looked incredibly uncomfortable, and was talking him up.  
When Vincent met his eyes he could see the panic. He walked towards them.

"Hey- uh- Al. Can I sit there?" Pointing at the seat, The jock turned to him.

"Um, can't you sit over there? You know, the second row, farthest left, with the initials 'JFK' carved into the desk?"

"No! It's, uh, sticky. And I hate sticky desks!"

The guy just looked at him like he was speaking a different language.

"U-um, actually. JFK and I have a group project in another class, so it'd be nice if we could sit next to each other to talk." Vincent chimed in. Hamilton looked at him, pulling the fakest smile he'd ever seen on that face, and walked away to JFK's typical desk. He kicked his feet up to rub it in, and whilst Jfk could feel his face getting hot he didn't care enough to do anything. 

"Sorry I didn't get here any sooner, Cleo was yelling at me."

"Oh, um… why? If you don't mind me asking." JFK noticed how he still looked flustered, cheeks flushed and all, and wondered if he looked like that all of the time.

"Er uh- Cleo got mad that I was gone for so long. Said people saw her- uh- alone." Scratching the back of his neck. He knew Vincent would blame himself, and blame himself he did.

"I-I'm sorry, JFK. You don't have to help me if it's that much of an issue, I'm not worth it anyways." He looked down. Whenever Cleo did this it was always fake, a way to guilt him into this party or that store, but hearing Vincent say it he knew that he meant it. And that made his chest squeeze.

"Don't worry, little guy. She's always like that." JFK waved it off, not wanting to get into it. 

He knew how bad everything seemed already, his dads lectured him on it all of the time, but he at the very least knew that Cleo liked him. That was enough for him.  
But that just made it easy for JFK to catch onto the worry on Vincent's face.

" _Always?_ " He looked directly at JFK, possibly for the first time ever, "JFK, that's not ok. She can't just yell at you all of the time!"

He shrugged as the teacher started to talk.

He could still see Vincent glance worried every now and then, though.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cleo and JFK _can't_ be in a healthy relationship.

It's not normal to yell at someone for the slightest inconvenience, or flirt with another guy to make him jealous. That's the kind of thing that belongs in a horribly written young adult novel.

JFK's nonchalant attitude about it just made Vincent even more worried. Did he not realise, or just not care?

His classes droned on, not really being able to focus with all of the rising anxiety he had. Today was too much, he decided, the colors were nice but too bright and he felt like the glow of the day just got covered in dust.

He speedwalked home, leaving with the crowd to avoid Hamilton, and hoping no red convertibles or trios of stoners would run into him.

He ran up to his room as soon as the front door closed ready to change into his art clothes and paint some more.  
Sadly, he would not be granted the peace.

"Vincent! There's someone at the door for you!" Shit. 

There were really only two people who would have an idea of where he lived, and one who could've followed him. He kinda hoped it was the latter, if not to talk to JFK more about his concern about Cleo.

Vincent walked downstairs. He tried to peek around the corner before he showed himself, but his mom sold him out.

"Honey, come greet your guest!" And… of course it was him.

There, on his front porch, stood fucking Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter things will start to kick up a notch, we're heading into "shits going down" territory.
> 
> I want to mention that I don't plan to just throw away Cleo in the grand scheme of things, I also don't think that Cleo is as toxic as I'm writing her to be. I do want to write a short spin off fanfic that revolves more around her and someone, if that sounds interesting
> 
> Leave your threats towards Hamilton in the comments, I love seeing them!


	5. No, JFK, no one wants to party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton gets PWND by Vincent's mom and JFK has to deal with the aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DKBESIBDIDHDID so apparently I forgot to post last week bc of the Unus Annus livestream and I didn't even realise until today!!! I'm so sorry guys, my bad. I'll post the next chapter early as a sorry :(

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.

He had no 6' jock or down-to-throw-hands punk, just his tiny 5'2, artsy self and his foster mom.

And Hamilton was standing in his front entrance now, smiling at him like a cat who got the milk.

"Hey, Van Gogh."

"Hello, Hamilton." He could feel himself panic more, his mom started to leave but he caught her hand.

"Oh!" She looked at Vincent, catching on, "Um, we have some rules around here, The jock. If you want to hang out." Vincent prayed his mom would come through.

"Well, I'm always one to follow the rules." Blatant lie,really. Van Gogh had to resist rolling his eyes..

"Ok, it's quite simple really." She took a deep breath through her nose. "You're not allowed to close the door, you're not allowed to go to the bathroom without asking either. If you're going to wear long sleeves you can't keep the sleeves rolled down. Hmm, there's a couple more but they're more situational. If you think that it may be an issue just ask me first, like if you go outside or use the phone." She paused, thinking of more rules while Hamilton looked more than a bit confused. 

Of course, Vincent knew that most of those rules were legit ones she'd been told by his therapist. Others were definitely made up though, or his foster mom just didn't like them and ignored them.

"Is… that all?"

"Well, there's also no boys allowed over." She crossed her arms

"Oh, um, why not?"

"Well, I'm not just gonna let my son have boys over all willy nilly."

"You know that he's…" 

"Gay? Yes, Why wouldn't I? He's my son."

"I just didn't realise…" Hamiltom fixed his posture back into his caricature of a pleasant young man instead of the asshole he really is,"Thank you ma'am, I'll head home now."

"Stay safe! It's getting dark and more than once has my son been assaulted on his way home late." She sneered.

Hamilton's cheeks flushed and he quickly walked away.

"I'm sorry I even opened the door." She said, pulling him into a hug and kissing his head, "I'm also sorry that I had to bring up those rules. I'm not a very threatening woman, ya know? Wasn't sure what else to say."

"It's alright. He's gone now and you know who he is." It wasn't quite alright, Hamilton now knew where he lives. He'll have to tell Joan and JFK.

"Why don't you tell me how he got here?"

He just explained everything, she probably would know what to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JFK didn't know what to do.

Since Vincent brought up his concern about Cleo, Jfk can't help but wonder if it did matter.

Maybe they should break up? But then Cleo would get with Abe and they'd be the new hottest couple!

And? That thought had been his motivation before, but now it just felt like any of Cleo's other lies.

He could ask his dads but he already knew their stance, and it was quite similar to Vincent's. Joan would probably feel the same.

His bedroom door opened, stopping him from pacing anymore. There stood Hamilton, face red.

"Van Gogh's mom is a bitch." Quite an opener, though JFK couldn't believe that a bitch would've raised someone as meek as Vincent.

"Well, uh, what makes you say that?"

"She told me that 'no boys were allowed' when I followed the pansy home." He went into a falsetto voice to mock Vincent's mom.

Oh, fuck.

"Well, you- uh- probably shouldn't follow people home." He suggested. From his experience that was not really appreciated.

"Yeah, but now I know where he lives. So if this doesn't work out, which I doubt, I can teach him a lesson." Hamilton smirked, making JFK flinch.

"Ya know, Alex, I've been meaning to talk to you about that." He began.

"About what? You got a new kid to pick on?"

JFK froze. He was never good at conversation, and now he had to completely change someone's mind. Something that typically took knowing how to actually talk to someone.

"Not- er- exactly?"

"Then what is it?"

"It's just- uh-… putting kids in lockers doesn't have the same excitement it used to." Not a complete lie. Ever since talking to Van Gogh he couldn’t help but see him in every kid they shoved.

"You know what? Cleo was right. You are going soft!" He smirked, walking up to JFK, "and I'm gonna tell the _whole school_."

JFK felt the heat in his face, who was he to pull his entire world out from under his feet? If he was really his friend he would be there for him.

But he wasn't ready for that talk.

"No! I'll- er uh- throw a huge party this Saturday! I'll even invite Vi- Van Gogh and you can get even farther ahead!"

Hamilton backed away, glaring at JFK.

"Good, see you then." And he left.

Fucking dammit, JFK, you don't deserve the title himbo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent couldn't calm down once Hamilton left.  
His brain ran wild with the ideas of groups of teenagers coming to his house to beat him up or something else of the sort.

When his phone went off mid panic attack he couldn't help but jump. The classical ringtone being louder than he expected.

He hesitantly picked up his phone, reading the user ID.

JFK calling…

Oh, shit. He had forgotten that he had given JFK his number, but why would he be calling at all? Ignoring the churning in his stomach Vincent answered the phone.

"Um… Hello?" Vincent murmured.

"Heya, Vincent! I may- or may not- have told Hamilton I'm throwing a party this weekend and that you're invited." JFK cried, sounding quite a bit panicked.

"You _what!?_?

"He burst into my room and said all these things about me going soft and I told him I'd- uh- throw a party so he'd get off my back and- and-" Vincent could hear him get choked up, "And he called your mom a bitch!" He finally got out before sobbing.

Vincent pulled the phone away from his ear as he sobbed, flinching at the noise.

"It's uh, it’s ok JFK. I'll just stay near you and Joan the whole time!" That was a complete lie, it was once again not alright. 

Vincent hated parties, the crowds made him feel smaller than he already was.  
Of course, sometimes they could be fun, like when he saw Gandhi naked and got to paint a mural making fun of his, um, extremely small member. Simple revenge for the crude embarrassment he made Vincent experience.

JFK sniffed, "You're sure?" He spoke, bringing Vincent back to reality.

"Yes, JFK. I'll just watch from the sidelines."

"Ok, see you Saturday!" JFK cheered before hanging up.

And Vincent started hyperventilating.

Two panic attacks in one day was by no means his record, but it was still a feat.

He tried to control his breathing, reminding himself to count the way his therapist had taught him. Once his breath slowed he couldn't help but think of colors. Yellows. Whites. Reds. Oranges. He scrambled to paint it on a canvas. 

The textured brush strokes calmed him more, the repetitive motion something he could rely on. He decided some turquoise would be a nice pop while keeping in the theme of what colors he was feeling.

In the end he had a painting that he could only describe as uncomfortable. The brush strokes shaping into a lone house on an abrasive, orange field. Turquoise sky ominous, and field endless.

He quite liked it, actually. He admired when he could paint his emotions so clearly. It made him feel seen, in some weird sense, and like the feelings were there now. Not in his chest and head.

Leaving it to dry, Vincent laid down to nap until dinner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JFK hung up the phone relieved.

He'd assumed Vincent wouldn't go, he'd never seen him at a party before. 

Of course, this also meant that Hamilton would be In the vicinity of Vincent, and that was basically what they were trying to avoid. Nice going.

JFK dragged a hand down his face, he'd have to plan a party and prevent a tragedy at the same time. He'd need lots of beer, and not the non-alcoholic crap Abe bought last time.

His instinct was to call Cleo, but he couldn't shake Vincent's concern from earlier. It felt… weird to call her for this, she'd probably construct some plan to get Vincent with Hamilton anyways.

His next best option was Joan, but she didn't seem to like his last party. But hell, if Vincent was there she'd manage.

The phone rang twice before she answered.

"What did you do this time, JFK?" she sighed, JFK brushed off his embarrassment to explain.

"I have to throw a party Saturday and make Vincent come, can you come to make sure he's alright and away from Hamilton?"

"Um, does Vincent know?"

"Yeah! He said it was alright, though i'm not sure I believe him, so be there?" He pleaded, Joan sighed 

"Fine, but I get to steal some of your dads' secret stash."

"Deal!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, the next one will be quite juicy if that doesn't sound weird.
> 
> Do you guys think I should post longer chapters/more often? I tend to write a chapter as one moment or plot point rather than a whole portion since I'm not entirely sure how to post so much at once and have it be coherent. I could try to post twice a week but I'm scared that I'd forget lmao. Let me know what you guys think?


	6. A good, old highschool party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its finally the night of JFK's party! Hamilton will be there, but Vincent will be fine as long as he sticks with JFK...
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sjebejehe ok so you guys might hate me at the end of this chapter. I said that I'd post this chapter early to make up for the week I missed and honestly this is probably the perfect chapter for it. Hope you guys... enjoy >:)

Vincent couldn't believe he was going through with this.

He slipped on his blue corduroy jacket as he tried to calm his nerves, checking his appearance.

He thought he looked nice, other than most of his facial features.   
His eyes underlined by black bags, cheeks gaunt, and he kind of hated his stubble. Not because it was unattractive, it was one of the things that made him seem masculine, but because of why he could no longer shave. 

Trying not to dwell on it much longer, he double checked the tightness of his bandage and walked downstairs. 

Joan and Abe were supposed to pick him up. He had already double checked that none of his meds would interact too badly with alcohol- his foster mom's idea- and had no other reason to stall.

"Vincent," his mother started as she walked into the entrance hallway, " This is your first party, and I'm proud of you for opening up so much, but please be careful. Stay safe, don't drink too much, and please if you have to use protection." She had both of her hands on Vincent's shoulders.

Vincent was busy stammering when a car honk rang, announcing his friends' arrival. 

His mom slapped his shoulder, "Well, that's you. Have fun, honey!" She kissed his cheek and Vincent walked outside.

"Hey, Vince! Ready to partayyyy?" Ghandi jumped from the backseat. 

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

Joan gave him an apologetic look, "He's not allowed to drive and Abe offered, sorry." 

Vincent got in the car, Blink-182 playing on the radio.

He didn't speak the rest of the ride.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JFK's party was in full swing. Trashy pop blasted from the speakers, his gay foster dads' liquor cabinet well used.

He couldn't enjoy it much, though.

Ever since he started hanging out with Joan and Vincent he realized what assholes he typically hung out with, and he was starting to feel intense hatred for Hamilton specifically. So hanging around them pretty much sucked.

He found himself glancing at the door every 5 minutes, sipping from his solo cup shole waiting to see apricot hair followed by dollarstore pink and annoying white boy brown hair.

Cleo bailed on him a while ago, not getting the attention she wanted, so JFK was just chilling. Finally he caught sight of a bandage.

"Heya, artsy! Over here!" JFK yelled, seeing Joan and Vincent split off from Abe and Ghandi, even though Gandhi wasn't really invited. JFK made a conscious effort to exclude him once more because of the stunt with Vincent he pulled last time, but Vincent was right here and nothing would happen as long as JFK was here too.

"Ok, JFK, we had a deal. Where's the weed?" Joan cut straight to the point, Vincent flushed.

"You have weed?" He squeeked, earning a couple of snickers from people nearby.

"Yep! It's in my dads' left nightstand, they're not home so don't worry!" Joan saluted and headed that way, leaving Vincent and JFK alone. "So- uh- want a drink?"

"...What do you have?"

Vincent eventually settled on a basic beer, earning a nod from JFK. A teen party staple.

They sipped and made light conversation, far from the usual for JFK, who'd typically be chatting some girl up by now.

Well, er… this was the next best thing.

Wait, no! This is what JFK is protecting Vincent from. Asshole teenaged boys who just want to take advantage of him.

But, the blush on his face was quite adorable. He must be quite the lightweight if just a beer already made him all rosy like that.

JFK had to do something before he lost control or something.

"So, uh, see any movies lately?" Vincent stared at him for a moment. That sounded like a pickup line. Oh, fuck, did JFK use a pickup line? He can't believe-

" I finally watched 'Up', it made me cry." Vincent answered, lip quivering as he thought. JFK pulled him to his chest.

"I saw that when I was- er uh- five," he sniffed, " i know what you're going through!" And he burst into a sob. Vincent couldn't hold it back much longer and started sobbing too. So now there's two drunk teen boys just sobbing on the kitchen floor.

"Oh, dear god. I go to smoke for 20 minutes, come back and you're having a mental breakdown." Joan sighed, pulling up JFK who refused to let go of Vincent, "Come one, let's put you guys somewhere safe to cry, at the very least."

Next thing JFK knew he was in his room and Joan was laying him down on his bed.

"Last I saw Gandhi was about to snort the weed so I'm gonna go stop him, stay here." She said before leaving, closing the door behind her.

JFK sat there, arms still around a sniffling Vincent. But it felt weirdly relaxing now, like he just landed on the couch after a long day of school and his dads weren't home.

He couldn't help but cherish the feeling, the same way he would stretch across the couch, admiring the free space, he squeezed Vincent to his chest and snuggled him.

"... JFK?" Vincent whispered, pulling away from his chest.

"Yeah, Vinnie?" The nickname slipped again. In his tipsy- or maybe drunk state, he wasn't so sure anymore- it just rolled off of his tongue.

"Why do you care?" Vincent spoke, words slurred the tiniest bit. And JFK found himself stumped by the question.

"Whadya mean?" 

"You know… Why are you helping me? You barely know me and not that long ago you bullied me, so why do you care?" Vincent whispered, tightening a fist into JFK's shirt but avoiding eye contact. JFK looked at Vincent, taking him all in.

Why wouldn't he? Vincent was kind and talented. He always expected the worst from people, surprised by the most basic human decency. He taught JFK what a real friend was, killed the sickly sweet illusion JFK had surrounded himself with. He had the sweetest, faintest freckles. The brightest turquoise eyes that held more emotions than JFK could name. 

Vincent was… everything.

He couldn't answer with words, it was basically impossible. And not just because he was more drunk than he realised. Before he could think it through, JFK placed his hand on Vincent's cheek.

And he kissed him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vincent could not physically believe it.

He was in JFK's room, on JFK's bed, kissing JFK.

Holy shit, _he was kissing JFK._

He hadn't realised how long he had been waiting for it until he felt the butterflies in his stomach going crazy. He always knew he found JFK attractive, but not in the nauseating, giddy feeling way.

He almost didn't realize he was crying, as well. Atleast, until JFK quickly pulled away.

"A-are you- uh- ok?" He asked, sitting up on his bed. Vincent just looked at him.

How was he supposed to explain to JFK that while it feels like he just put the moon in the sky just for him, it also feels like it meant Vincent was killing all of the stars?

"I…" JFK's eyes widened and he looked even more concerned, pulling away from him like he was burned.

"Oh, man. I'm so sorry, Vinnie. I- I didn't think- I thought-" before JFK could finish his sentence the door opened.

"Ok, so Gandhi snorted some weed and had to go to the hospital. But that's not my problem and there's still plenty left, so-" Joan stopped and looked at the two, noticing the tension in the room.

"... Everything alright?"

Vincent went to speak but JFK got to it first.

"Yep, the same as you left. Maybe even better! Say, I think I'm gonna end the party early." And he scurried out of the room. Joan looked out the bedroom door and back to Vincent.

"Ok, that was definitely weird in a not normal JFK way. What happened?" She asked, walking toward him.

Vincent couldn't stop the tears from coming for the third time that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JFK walked downstairs as fast as he could with his vision blurred.

He didn't realise he was crying at first, he was just trying to get downstairs because _absolutely nothing happened upstairs_. When people started staring, however.

"Oh, JFK! There you are," oh, shit. He had completely forgotten about Cleo. " I just wanted to tell you that I want to be with Abe. I hope we can still be friends." 

What? Cleo would leave him just like that?! JFK felt… he actually felt fine.

Maybe Cleo kissed Abe around the same time that he kissed Vincent! That evened it out on that end, now he just had to figure out how to make it up to the boy himself.

"Hello? JFK? I just broke up with you? ...Show some emotion!"

,"I- er uh-"

"Good enough. Now, I will be taking this party to my house to throw my _own_ party. Ciao!" A gust of wind and a stampede of teens were out the door.

Oh, shit. Abe was Vincent and Joan's ride.

No problem. JFK would just set them up here for the night. Maybe that could make it up to him.

JFK looked at the remaining stragglers.

"Ok, everyone! Leave! The party is over and I need my- uh- I need my beauty sleep!" JFK yelled from the stairs, scared teens scampering away.

That's handled, now for his friends.

He walked up to his bedroom door and knocked, they went silent inside.

They were absolutely talking about how awful he is, how he took advantage of Vincent. He couldn't help but agree.

"Hey, JFK. You don't have to knock, you know. This is _your_ room." Joan answered. Vincent was still sitting on his bed.

"I- er uh- know," he avoided eye contact with either, "the party's over, everyone's gone, and Abe went to Cleo's house."

"...Oh." he saw Joan's eyes start to glisten, "Well, um-"

"You guys can stay in my room, there's a sleeping bag in my closet from when Ponce would come over. So, help yourself." His throat felt a little tight thinking about his old best friend, and the current situation didn't help either.

"JFK, what about you?" Vincent asked, his voice cracked. God, had he been crying, too?

"I'll sleep in my dads' bed, it's fine." He made himself look up at them, and he could finally see the worry in their eyes, each pair red for a different reason, "uh… goodnight."

JFK heard chirps of "goodnight" in response as he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because having them simply get together would be ~too complicated~
> 
> Scream in the comments, release all of the emotion that may have been caused. Because this shit was hard to write i simply just want them to cuddle
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!


	7. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the party Vincent is hurt and JFK is in denial. And Joan? She has a plan.

Vincent didn't sleep very well.

He stayed up until 2 am, mind fuzzy from his buzz but focused on one thing. JFK.

He really didn't know what to do. He'd talked to Joan who just called them "idiot gays" and that wasn't really helpful, but none of them were sober so maybe it didn't count.  
Yeah. He'd wake up in the morning to JFK acting the same as he did before they kissed and Joan would laugh at how stupid they were for drunkingly making out.

The ache in his chest made him think otherwise. After the realization that he did, in fact, like JFK he wouldn't be able to ignore it. He'd never been good at hiding feelings, more inclined to spill them out. Whether it was on a canvas or the teen crisis hotline. 

Thing was, liking JFK was terrifying. JFK was a force to be reckoned with. All of the girls swooned for him, all the guys wanted to be him, and he wasn't exactly known for his monogamy.

Its not that Vincent had anything against polygamy, but he already didn't trust himself enough for one partner, he'd screw up even worse in a situation where there were 2 or 3. An he wasn't going to force JFK into anything he didn't want, that'd only end in heartbreak.

Vincent rubbed his eyes, deciding to finally get up and groaning as the light streamed in through the window. 

"And that's why I don't rely on alcohol for a buzz, basically no hangover." Joan spoke, sitting up from the sleeping bag on the floor.

Oh yeah, he slept in JFK's bed. The scent of generic fabric softener and JFK's cologne lingered in the sheets, which did not help the flip in his stomach.

"You ok, dude?" She asked, waving a hand in front of his face.

"Um, yeah. Just not sure how to face him." Vincent softly. He didn't drink that much, but his head still ached.

"It'll be fine. And if he tries anything he'll have to answer to me."

The two gathered what little they had with them, Vincent sending a text to let his mom know he was ok.

Carefully walking downstairs Vincent prepared to bail, there was nothing left to do and he felt like he needed to sort through his emotions before facing JFK.

"Oh! good morning, babies! Ya'll want some breakfast?" One of JFK's foster dad's asked, stopping him in his tracks.

"Oh, um, sure Wally. That'd be great." Joan looked at the dining table before sitting down, looking at Vincent to do the same.

Hesitantly, he sat down across from JFK's other father. A burly man with tattoos and a 5 o' clock shadow so dark it felt more appropriate to call it an 8 o' clock shadow. The man put the newspaper he was reading down, giving Vincent a onceover.

"So, you courting my boy?" He grunted, startling Vincent. He choked on his breath, face flushing.

"M-me? No! No, we're… just friends." He exclaimed, not wanting to be beaten by a middle aged man.

"...too bad, would make a nice couple." He said going back to his paper. Wally walked in with a plate of pancakes, kissing the man's cheek.

"Come on, Carl, leave the poor boy alone. You can't force Jack to be gay."

_Oh._

Right, JFK was straight. Vincent had… momentarily forgotten about that. He was straight and had a _girlfriend_. Fuck, what is wrong with you, Vincent?

So, he was probably just drunk and curious. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Vincent suddenly wasn't very hungry, but Wally made all of those pancakes and he wasn't going to waste them.

As Wally handed him his plate there was a shuffling from the stairs.

"Hi- er- dads." JFK said, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked down the stairs, still obviously half asleep.

"Hello! Jack, baby, You're just in time for breakfast." Wally spoke. JFK reached the bottom of the stairs before looking up, meeting Vincent's eyes.

"Gr- er uh- hi! You're still here!" He seemed genuinely surprised. Had he wanted him to leave that bad? Vincent guessed _he_ would if he had kissed JFK just to see if he was gay.

"Jack! That is no way to treat a guest! Especially one so perfect for you!" Carl scolded.

"I already said-"

"Gay foster dad it's not like that-"

"Yeah, they're hopeless-"

"Children!" Wally yelled, "eat your pancakes."

Wally was too terrifying to not listen.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

JFK could not be more embarrassed, of course Joan and Vincent would still be here, and of course his dads would wake up before him.

God knows what they said to Vincent before he got there. When he started to bring Ponce around they interrogated him, asking about his intentions with their son. Well, more suggesting them.

Even with the tension JFK could admire his foster dad's pancake skills. It was about all Wally could cook. Now, Carl? Carl could best Bobby Flay, though most people probably could.

"So, you kids need a ride home?" Carl asked, finishing off his cup of coffee.

"Thanks, gay foster dad, but I've- uh- got it handled." JFK may be a human piece of crap for more things than last night, but he wasn't going to send his friends home with his dads.

"Oh, you don't have to, JFK-" Vincent- was he even allowed to call him that anymore?- Van Gogh began, but Joan butted in.

"Oh, he absolutely does. I had to sleep on the floor, I'm riding home in style." She shoved her last fork full of pancake into her mouth.

"But I live on the other side of town! That's a lot of gas money."

"You can pay me back. It's fine, V- ...It's fine." Van Gogh didn't meet his eyes as they finished breakfast.

Joan and Van Gogh helped clean up what was left from the party and double checked JFK's room for any stuff they may have left behind before leaving.

When they walked up to the car Joan decided to be typical Joan.

"Hey, Vincent, can I sit in the back?" She asked. He whipped towards her, and despite his small size JFK was genuinely terrified of him for a moment. JFK caught Van Gogh's eye before he calmed down.

"...Yeah, alright. I'll sit up front."

"Good."

The drive was mostly silent besides Joan complaining about Abe bailing the night before. After they dropped her off it was completely quiet.

"So- uh-"

"About-"

"Sorry! You go first."

"No, it's ok. I don't have much to say."

"Uh-" 

Damn. JFK wanted to apologize about last night, but what was he even supposed to say? " _sorry for forcing myself on you last night, you're gay and I wanted to kiss you so I figured it'd work out_ "?

"I just… wanted to say sorry for last night. We can forget about it." That would have to do. 

"Oh, um… yeah, no problem."

He's still upset. JFK screwed up big time, huh?

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 _Shit_.

Vincent could feel his stomach ache at JFK's words..

 _"We can forget about it."_. A stab in the gut. Thankfully, he managed to hold back any tears until they got to Vincent's house.

JFK paused as he stopped in front of Vincent's house, turning to face the other boy. Their eyes met for a moment before JFK turned back.

"... See ya at school, shortstack."

"... Yeah. See you then." And he drove off.

Vincent tugged his jacket closer around him as he quickly walked to the front door, he couldn't stop his tears now and all he wanted to do was hide in his room for the weekend.

"Hey, Honey! How was the-" his mom saw his face, "Oh dear, come here. What happened?" She said as she hugged him.

"JFK- Last night-" he was sobbing too hard to form a coherent sentence.

"Take a couple of breaths, you're hyperventilating."

"Mom, he _kissed me_ " he burst out, voice cracking as he did, "And I didn't say anything and he had the _audacity_ to think that meant i didn't _want_ him to kiss me!" He began to pace, flailing his arms up for emphasis, "And yeah I didn't know I wanted him to until he did but he didn't even let me speak, and- and now he just wants to forget about it…" 

His mom held him by the shoulders, stopping him.

"Honey… did you tell him?"

"...No. I didn't."

She sighed, pulling him into the kitchen.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Vincent asked as he sat at the counter.

"Im making tea for us. We are going to sit down and talk about how you're going to resolve this, because this is a clear miscommunication." She said as she filled the kettle.

Was it? Because to Vincent it was pretty clear that JFK kissed him to experiment and forget and that Vincent is the gay idiot who caught feelings and didn't say anything.

"Mom, you don't have to do this… He probably only kissed me because I'm gay and he's curious."

His mom turned sharply around.

"Then he's not someone you should cry over. Simple as that, Vin." She smiled and went back to the tea.

"But… I really like him. I didn't notice before because he kinda scared me but... I do now. and then we _kissed_. I don't know how I'm gonna get over this." How was he supposed to?  
The cutest and goofiest person Vincent knows kissed him and then was so respectful of his boundaries. To a fault, obviously, but it was admirable. Even if this is how it ended up.

" _Then talk to him_! Goodness, Vincent, it's not rocket science. I know it's difficult to be vulnerable, but if you like him that much you have to be!"

His therapist said the same thing the next day, but that didn't mean much to him.

He knew they were right, it was clear that he needed to talk to him… but it's not that easy. Plus, JFK has a girlfriend. Vincent wouldn't stand a chance compared to Cleo.

Which left one option.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

It was Thursday, almost one week since the Van Gogh fiasco. It sucked.

Van Gogh had been avoiding JFK ever since he dropped him off.

He had said they could forget about it, but JFK had been replaying the kiss in his head all week. What he could remember, anyways. It was different than Cleo, who was still dating Abe. Good for them.

JFK was sitting in class when his phone went off. The teacher gave him a look as he pulled it out to check the text, but he didn't do anything.

_Joanie: meet me in the art room, it's about Vincent_

_Himbo: is he ok??_

_Joanie: yes, you himbo_  
_just be there during lunch_

JFK sighed, rubbing his face.

_Himbo: ok_

The rest of his classes flew by, mostly because he couldn't stop thinking about what happened to Van Gogh. 

_Hamilton_.

Hamiltom had to have done something to him. What else would be this important?

As he walked to the art room he thought more about it. Could it be about him? Was Joan about to disown him as a friend and leave him for the popular kids? Vincent basically had already, but he couldn't blame him.

"Finally, you're here. Sit down on the stool, Vincent will be here soon." Joan said from behind the teacher's desk.

"Wait, what?" 

"Shhhh, trust the process." JFK listened and sat down. It took about 5 minutes for Vincent to show up along with the butterflies in his stomach.

"What's wrong, Joan? ...JFK?" He looked at JFK with genuine confusion. Then again Joan didn't tell him that Vincent would be there either.

"Hey, tiny." JFK tried to smile at Vincent, but he quickly looked away.

"Joan what's going on?" 

She stood up from the desk, arms crossed in front of her.

"I had a run in with Hamilton. We have to go through with the fake dating plan." She said as she walked to the middle of the room.

"And JFK is here because…?" Vincent questioned. JFK could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"Because you're choosing JFK."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I posted this late again! Got busy and forgot to edit it so had to pump this out this morning. Its a bit longer than other chapters so I hope you enjoyed that.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Makeover, Makeover, Makeover (the reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joan wants JFK and Vincent to fake date, huh?
> 
> Yeah, because having 2 gay idiots who like eachother pretend to date always works out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw: Hamilton doesn't say any slurs bc that makes me personally uncomfortable but he is quite clearly targeting JFK/Vincent because they're gay.

Had he heard Joan right?

"Er uh- choosing me for…?" JFK asked, but it was clear to Vincent what it was Joan was doing. 

"You want JFK to pretend to be my boyfriend?" Vincent walked out of the doorway, wrapping his arms around himself.

At this point he couldn't say he didn't like the idea. Despite ignoring JFK all week his feelings for him hadn't grown any smaller and being in the same room as him after not seeing him for a week was doing things to his stomach, but that wasn't Joan's issue.

"Yeah, Hamilton is getting ready to pounce and I decided that I want to take some time to be alone." She looked down at her feet, before looking up to meet Vincent's eyes, almost daring him to say something.

"What about Cleo?" He tried, but JFK butted in.

"Actually, we broke up at the party…"

"Which gives you no excuse." Joan smirked, seeing that she won the fight, "you guys will be sitting together at lunch. Look cute, be cuddly." Her lips broke into a smile as she left the room.

A silence fell over the room, but Vincent's head was anything but.

"You broke up with Cleo?" He asked as he turned towards JFK.

"Uh- actually she broke up with me, but I don't mind. I'd realised that I didn't feel the same I used. You were right about her anyways." He said as he scratched the back of his neck. Vincent sat on the stool next to his.

"I'm… sorry." Vincent looked at his feet. JFK put the hand he had on his neck next to Vincent's.

"For what?"

"You've been going through a breakup all week and I've been ignoring you. Even if I didn't know, that's a shitty thing to do." Vincent put his face in his hands, sighing. Everything felt so complicated.

"Don't feel bad. I know you needed some time away from me… anyways."JFK walked over to Vincent and offered his hand. "should we get going?" He offered a kind smile as Vincent took his hand. Vincent couldn't hold back his own small smile.

Dammit, Joan. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

JFK let go of Van Gogh's hand to hold the door open for Van Gogh as they left the art room, but already missed the artist's hand. 

Keep your head straight Jacky boy.

At this point JFK was definitely not apposed to the idea, he just wished it were real. He was also worried he might go too far, like at the party. I mean, why else would Van Gogh ignore him?

"So, we're sitting together at lunch?" Said boy asked as they walked, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"Guess so, but we haven't hung out in a while anyways." He saw Van Gogh look down at his feet, "but- uh- that just means we have to hang out more often to make up for it!"

"Yeah… ok."

They went quiet as the cafeteria doors came into view, JFK turning towards Van Gogh.

"Can I hold your hand?" He felt his face blush as he held out his hand for Van Gogh to take. The other boy froze for a moment before hesitantly grabbing it.

"Let's go inside." He muttered, obviously flustered.

JFK briefly considered letting go, Van Gogh obviously was overwhelmed and he didn't want to push too far again, but he was being pulled into through the cafeteria doors before he could even realise it.

Everyone went silent as the doors slammed open and Van Gogh used all of his weight to pull JFK behind him to sit with Joan. It was at that moment that JFK realised he was _seething_ , as well as how attractive it kinda was when he's mad.

_stop being a simp, John._

Joan smirked as they sat down.

"Hello, Joan." Van Gogh muttered, Joan smirked back.

"Hello, lovebirds. Where were you guys?" She asked, blinking innocently.

"Er uh- we were with y- ow!" Someone stomped JFK's foot before he could finish his sentence. Van Gogh sighed.

"We were making out, Joan. That's where we were." He deadpanned, obviously fed up. Joan responded with an overly dramatic gasp.

"You guys _made out_!?" As soon as the words left her mouth the cafeteria broke into whispers.

JFK felt his face go red with anger before he remembered that they had not, in fact, made out and that this was the whole point of fake dating.

"Er- yep! Planted one on the short stack, tongue and all!" JFK felt a swat hit the back of his head, turning to see a flustered Van Gogh, "Sorry."

"It's fine, just don't be so crude." He mumbled as he sat back down, having to stand up a little to reach JFK's head.

Lunch was pretty much sooth sailing with stares and whispers at most, and so far no sign of Cleo. That was until-

"JFK? I knew you'd move on, I just wasn't expecting… him." Cleo said as she walked up with Abe.

"Hey Joan!" Said tall dude waved, seemingly unaware of anything other than boobs. Joan waved back meekly.

"Well- uh- he's just… cute, ya know? Tiny and compact." JFK offered, Cleo looked at Van Gogh with scrutinizing eyes.

"I guess I can see that, he is kind of adorable. In a hamster like way" She settled, turning back to JFK.

"Yeah! And he makes really nice paintings, and- er- it's nice to put your arms around him!" He rambled, lost in his own world for a bit before remembering where he was. He looked down at Van Gogh to see his face flushed bright red.

"Awe, he's embarrassed!" Cleo cooed next to a now disgruntled Abe.

"Come on, Cleo. He's not _that_ cute." He mumbled as he crossed his arms.

"Yeah, Cleo. Leave him alone." Joan defended.

"Joan! How could you talk to Cleo that way?"

"Um… do you guys want to sit? It's a bit weird to have you guys just standing there." Van Gogh spoke up, keeping his eyes glued to the table.

"Sure! I mean, who else am I gonna talk about my new manicure with?" The pair sat down next to Joan, much to her dismay.

"So, where's Gandhi?" Said pink haired girl asked.

"Oh, he had to go to an emergency Solid Gandhi Dancers meeting." Abe responded as he picked at his lunch.

"Ah."

A silence fell over the table as the rest of the cafeteria got bored of them. Cleo was the first to break it.

"So, Van Gogh. Would you want to go shopping with me sometime?" She asked, hands folded in front of her.

"...Shopping?" The redhead asked, JFK looked down at him to gage his reaction. He didn't want the boy to feel pressured into hanging out with her.

"Yeah! You could help me pick out my clothes and stuff." 

"Um... I don't know much about clothes." He crossed his arms, which was incredibly endearing to JFK.

"Oh, well I'll just teach you about clothes then! We'll head to the mall after school," Cleo turned to Joan, "Do… you want to come?"

Joan looked caught off guard, eyes widening but seeing the begging of mercy in Van Gogh's eyes.

"Uh. Sure, I don't really have anything else to do."

"Great!"

The bell rang soon after, signifying the end of their lunch period.

"See you guys after school!" Cleo yelled as she waved goodbye, Abe by her side.

JFK looked down at Van Gogh, placing his hand on his arm. The boy jumped before deflating a bit.

"Ya sure you wanna do this, Van?" He asked, Van Gogh took a deep breath.

"What do I have to lose at this point?"

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

Vincent wasn't entirely sure how he ended up in a Forever 21 with Joan and Cleo, but there he was. Cleo kept giving him obscene shirts that looked like something Kurt Hummel from Glee would wear while Joan would hand him dumb slogan shirts. The most notable one saying "namaslay", which felt like some sort of cultural appropriation.

That being said it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Cleo could be nice when she wanted to be, but the weird tension of ex-girlfriend-of-one-of-the-party's-fake-boyfriend and current-girlfriend-of-the-other-party's-crush definitely put a slight damper on things.

Vincent kept his cool for the most part. He almost lost it, however, when Cleo handed the most _God awful_ shirt he had ever seen.  
It was a collared shirt except it had no sleeves, a bedazzled collar, a slit all the way down the side starting at the armpit, and was cropped after the fourth button. Basically, a collar and some buttons.

"Um… is that even a shirt?" He asked as Cleo handed him the fabric.

"Of course it is! I have my own, so we could match. Oh, Joan you should get one too!" Cleo actually seemed… genuinely excited? 

Maybe she just liked having people to dress up like dolls or modeling people after herself but Vincent suddenly felt bad for thinking the shirt was so awful. Even if it _was_ a monstrosity.

"I guess?"

"Vincent, you're actually going to wear that?" Joan snickered, as Cleo handed her the same shirt in her size, "this is basically a necklace."

"Fine, wear it over a shirt then. But we should all match tomorrow at school! That way you have a reason to wear it."

Joan paused for a moment before smirking.

"You know what? Screw it, we're doing this."

Cleo clapped in excitement before taking the shirts to the register. Vincent walked up to Joan.

"You will be wearing it, right?" He asked, she looked down at him.

"Yep. You?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Great. We'll all look like disasters together, then." She nudged his shoulder, "and who knows? Maybe JFK will dig it." She teased, earning a punch from a blushing Vincent as she giggled

Cleo smiled as she made her way back over to the pair.

"What's so funny?" 

"Vincent is so gay for JFK it's pathetic." She said before snorting. Cleo's smile faltered.

"Ha, yeah. I didn't even know JFK liked dudes, it makes me feel bad for some of the things I said around him."

Vincent felt his stomach flip at the thought of Cleo saying something that hurt JFK.

"Then tell him you're sorry." He stated simply, Cleo turned to him.

"...Yeah, I think I will. You know what, Vinnie? You're not just cute, you're smart too."

"Um, thanks?"

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

JFK groaned at his homework for the 10th time in five minutes. He usually asked Joan for help but she was still out with Van Gogh and Cleo. Which was a strange thought.

He knew that for the most part Joan seemed to despise Cleo. He was never entirely sure why besides the fact that Joan had grown to be one of JFK's closest friends and Cleo didn't treat him very well, as Van Gogh pointed out.

Speaking of, he was surprised the boy went at all. 

He could see Joan doing it for laughs but Van Gogh didn't seem like the type to do that. And there was also the fact that they had to pretend to date now. Definitely not what JFK thought would happen when he woke up that morning. 

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to interact with the boy anymore, what would be for show and what was just them. When do they even act? Anytime they're in public? Only near groups of people? There were too many undrawn lines, and the line JFK was most scared about was- it was kissing. 

It's embarrassing to think how flustered even the thought made JFK. he had slept with countless girls as well as Cleo and they had never made him feel nearly this much. He didn't want to push the boy he cared so much about.

This was definitely a conversation to have later.

JFK sighed as he reached for his calculator once more, trying to figure out what the hell math even is anymore. A knock on his window pulled him back, though.

He swiveled his desk chair around to see Hamilton, red in the face. JFK hesitated to open the window, but if he could keep Hamilton away…

"What the actual _fuck_ , Jack." Hamilton climbed inside fast, pushing JFK as he did.

"What?" JFK fell over from the force.

"Are you serious? _'what'_? You know what. You're dating Van Gay now!?" He spat at him, getting threatingly close after JFK stood back up. 

"Listen-"

"No! _you listen_. I've been following that little freak since the party that you were supposed to throw so that I could lead him one. Not so _you_ could have a little gay party." He jabbed his finger into JFK's chest as he spoke, backing him into a wall.

"Alex, you gotta understand-"

"Do _not_ call me Alex. We are not friends. From now on I will do everything I can to make your's and that little gay ship's life a _living hell_ " Hamilton spoke. JFK's grit his teeth.

"You leave him out of this."

"You're the one who brought him into this." He responded before pulling away suddenly, "Watch your back, JFK. because it's got a bright red target on it." And he slipped back outside.

JFK quickly ran forward and locked the window back. He briefly considered calling Van Goh before deciding against it. No way was JFK about to worry Van Gogh like that.

JFK sighed before sitting back down to struggle through homework for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thats shirts real. I looked up dumb forever 21 shirts and HOLY SHIT there's some bad ones but no one was as iconic as that shirt.
> 
> Also, ik the callback to the meme is quite lame but it felt wrong to say anything else as the closer for this chapter lmao.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please leave your thoughts about this chapter in the comments.


	9. Hahaha what if I broke your nose? Jk... unless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent expected his day to go bad because of his shirt, not because JFK is a dumbass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW there's a fight in which Hamilton once again targets JFK specifically because he thinks JFK and Vincent are dating, and there's depictions of blood and violence.

As Vincent looked in his bedroom mirror he remembered why he wore baggy clothes.

His abdomen was completely visible, his scrawny figure showing off the shallow definition of ribcage. And it certainly didn't help that the shirt was basically just a bib. He wasn't entirely sure what shirt would pair well enough with the gold studs on the collar- or generally at all- so he settled on a loose, plain white tank top and pulled his cardigan over it.

Just as he turned away from his reflection Vincent's phone buzzed, probably a text from Cleo. She had been texting him almost nonstop since she dropped him off from shopping.

_Cleo: hey Vinnie! Hope you like attention, bc these shirts will have the guys dropping their jaws! Xoxo_

This is it. Cleo absolutely has to be doing this on purpose. She's scheming to embarrass him, she has to be… but she also seemed so excited about the idea of matching shirts. She actually seemed genuine, more genuine than Vincent had seen her anyways.

_:yeah. I guess they will_

He threw his phone to the side, throwing himself Fondo his bed next. The popcorn ceiling made tangled into different shapes as he stared at it.

His life suddenly felt so complicated.   
Literally a week ago he had one enemy and 2 friends, a clear black and white world, and now? He had made out with one of his closest friends and was now pretending to date him, was hanging out with the girl who used to date said friend, and Hamilton was nowhere to be seen.

That's what, like, two frenemies, one blurred line, and one actual friend who was trying to lead his life for him? Damn.

"Vincent, honey! You ready yet? You've got about 30 minutes!" His mom called from somewhere else I n the house. He quickly checked his phone to verify and, yep, he had less than 30 minutes to walk all the way to school.

"Shit." Vincent dragged a hand down his face, the walk to school was almost an hour. He'd have to run at this rate.

He brainstormed before deciding he had three options. Run and get just so sweaty, ask his mom to drive him, or call either Cleo or JFK to pick him up. Well, four options.

JFK's house was maybe 15 minutes away from school, and Cleo was responsive and lived far closer…

_: i hate to bother you but could you drive me to school? I spent to long getting ready this morning and won't make it to school on time._

Vincent crossed his fingers as he waited for a response. He jumped a bit when his phone buzzed.

_Cleo: of course!! I can make sure your outfit matches mine that way as well_

He quietly let out a sigh of relief.

_: Thanks, Cleo._

_Cleo: np! Xoxo_

He stated at the screen for a moment before responding once more.

_:...xoxo_

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

JFK could feel the pit in his stomach as he parked in the school parking lot. He wasn't sure what to expect today, but his run in with Hamilton yesterday certainly didn't make him hopeful.

Everyone went silent as he walked through the halls, heading to his locker. He had a feeling he was walking to his doom. 

Low and behold, Hamilton stood in front of his locker.

"Hey, Hamilton. Whatcha doing there?" Hamilton skirted around JFK in response before stopping a few feet in front of him.

"Where's the twink?" He spat.

"The- uh- the what?"

"Come on now!" Hamilton shoved JFK's shoulders, "You've gone gay and you do don't even know the slang?" He spoke through gritted teeth.

"And you do?" JFK asked. This, clearly, broke something in Hamilton as the next thing he did was swing at JFK's face.

"I learned to get with Van Gogh, asshat!" 

JFK felt a crunch as Hamilton's fist met his nose. He felt something warm on his upper lip, touching it and pulling his hand away to discover that, yep, that's blood.

"What the hell, man! That was a Kennedy nose!" JFK lunged at Hamilton pushing him backwards until he had him against the locker. 

Everyone around them began chanting, some cheering the fight and others telling them to stop. One notable person yelled something about "the girls fighting".

"What, Kennedy? Gonna smooch me?" Hamilton mocked, or at least tried. It was an awkward delivery and sounded more like a suggestion.

"Dude, if you're gay it's ok." JFK offered. However, that just pissed Hamilton off more.

"I'm. Not. Gay!" And pushed JFK against the lockers on the other side of the hall.

Hamilton pinned JFK against the lockers with an arm across the neck, JFK felt his breath leave his lungs as he struggled to get more.

"Hey, I- er uh- can't breathe." 

"Ok, so I really need to let out my teenage rage so can you just tap out when you think you'll faint?" 

"I- er uh- I guess?" 

"Great." Hamilton punched JFK in the gut before feeling a slap on his arm, "Yeah, ok. Whatever."

JFK fell to the floor as Hamilton backed up, in the distance JFK could hear a panicked voice.

"What the hell is going on here? JFK, oh my god!" JFK heard quick footsteps and felt a hand grab his chin, turning his face towards them.

Holding his face was Van Gogh, who looked incredibly concerned and also incredibly cute. 

"Hey, Apricot. Whatcha doing here?" JFK felt himself smile as Van Gogh brushed the blood from his lips. 

"Are you kidding me? You're such an idiot. You just got your ass kicked, can we focus on that?" 

"I guess you're right." JFK turned to Hamilton, "Could you get the nurse?"

"I just beat you up. Why would I do that?" He asked, flinching as Van Gogh helped JFK stand up.

"Because your hand is probably all screwed up."

Hamilton looked down at his hand. His knuckles looked bright red and had JFK's nose blood on them.

"Gross." He muttered before looking back up, "Yeah, I'll get him."

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

When Cleo had walked Vincent into school that morning he hadn't expected to find JFK with a broken nose and Hamilton to have given it to him, but at this point he couldn't be surprised. Could one thing in his life be calming for once?

"Thanks for helping me out, Vinnie." He heard JFK say from where he sat. In fact, it was the first time he had heard him say that in a hot minute.

"So you're actually going to call me by my name now?" He asked, turning towards JFK who held an ice pack to his nose.

"You noticed that?" JFK flinched when Vincent took a sharp breath.

"Did I notice that you stopped calling me by my first name after we kissed? Yeah, I did." Vincent dragged a hand down his face, standing up to pace.

"... I'm sorry. I felt like I didn't have the right to call you that anymore." JFK admitted. Vincent wanted to stop, to realise that JFK was innocent in all of this and just as much of a victim as he was. But he didn't.

"Seriously? Instead of talking to me everyone thinks they can just make decisions for me now?" 

Vincent paced faster. 

"You and Joan deciding that you needed to 'protect me from Hamilton when it really looks like all it did was get your ass kicked. You deciding that you were going to throw a party and telling Hamilton that I'd be there to get off of your back instead of maybe, I don't know, picking a side? You kissing me and deciding that that's not what I want, like you would know! Deciding that I didn't want you to call me by my _literal name_ , Joan decided we needed to pretend to date." He unbuttoned his cardigan, "this stupid shirt Cleo picked for me and Joan to match her!" 

Vincent stopped and faced JFK.

"I haven't made a decision for myself in weeks! My entire life has been wrapped up in what everyone else around me wants, that's not fair!" He took a deep breath as he realised that JFK had begun to tear up.

"... I'm sorry, Vincent." His voice cracked as he apologized, and Vincent remembered where he was. It wasn't therapy, it wasn't his bedroom, and he wasn't yelling to himself. JFK was real, and JFK was affected.

"I…" Vincent was at a loss for words. He has quite incredibly and irreparably screwed things up. "I am too." He looked down at his feet, seeing little flecks of paint on his shoes. He heard a sniffle from in front of him.

"You- you can leave if you want. You don't gotta stay here." JFK was offering him an escape. 

"No- I just… It's not your fault." Vincent couldn't bring himself to look back up at JFK, but he knew he needed to. 

Pushing down everything in his stomach he looked up at JFK, who's eyes had grown redder.

"I just hate that I don't get to control anything in my life anymore, I haven't in a while but at least I had the illusion of choice. Now it's just 'Vincent do this' and 'Van Gogh do that'... but I shouldn't take that out on you."

"Yeah… you shouldn't." JFK met his eyes.

A clearing of the throat broke the tension.

"Hi, I'm still here." Hamilton said from the other side of the curtain next to the bed JFK sat on.

"Right. Sorry, Hamilton." Vincent looked at the jock, "I'll leave now."

Vincent went to leave when JFK caught his wrist.

"Wait," he said as he stood up, "... we don't have to do this fake dating thing."

"...Let's talk about this later. Your nose is broken and I just yelled at you to the point of tears, feel mad at me and then we'll talk."

And he left to go to his next class.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

"So…" JFK heard Hamiltom start from the other side of the curtain, the first noise since Vincent left "You guys _aren't_ dating?" He asked.

"No, we aren't." _but I wish we were_ was on the tip of his tongue. But you never reveal your secrets to the dude who just broke your nose.

"Oh…" a long pause filled the room with silence, "He's right, you know." 

"Yeah. We shouldn't be pushing him like that."

" _No_ , you absolute idiot." Hamilton pulled the curtain back and turned to JFK, "You should be mad at him, seething even! You didn't deserve to be yelled at like that. None of that shit had to do with anything except the fact that you guys kissed at that fucking party. Which, screw you." 

"Yeah, but he has every right to be upset." JFK felt himself flush with a weird mixture of anger and embarrassment.

"But not to yell at you for things you can't control! If you have any intention on dating him you've gotta sort that out, man. Don't screw up something you care about with sand for a foundation."

JFK looked at his feet, and by association where Vincent stood not even 5 minutes ago. And he felt betrayed.

"I really like him, Alex."

"I can tell, so figure your shit out. Don't let him walk all over you, set boundaries and tell him that he doesn't get to let everything out on you like that."

"Yeah ok." He smiled for the first time since he got to the nurses office, and felt his nose shift, "Oh! Christ, that hurts."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"You're not, but I get the sentiment." 

"Start setting your boundaries, JFK." Hamilton lightly shoved him as he spoke.

"...You know what, you're right. Screw you for breaking my nose! Figure yourself out instead of taking it out on me, and I'm not gonna let you choke me next time."

"Great, now say that to Van Gogh… minus the choking part."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I don't think i can be friends with you after all of this, but I appreciate the advice."

"No problem, dude" 

Hamilton put out his fist for a fistbump, to which JFK happily agreed. 

"Not friends?"

"Not friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I'm sorry for the angst but I didn't like how well everyone was getting along last chapter and how Vincent and JFK didn't talk about the party and just decided to pretend to date with no issue.  
> Probably because I don't like leaving things like that unresolved irl but also because it didn't seem like a thread I wanted to leave loose.
> 
> Also I'm not very good at writing legit foght scenes and while I love redeeming characters I think its better for JFK and Hamilton to just decide that they're gonna stay out of eachothers shit and probably just be casual rivals
> 
> Despite such things I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Please leave your thought, I really love your comments


	10. Author's note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is skipable since it doesn't pertain much to the actual story, but it may be helpful to read this

Hey guys!  
I want to start right off the bat by saying thank you so much for all of the support!! I never expected to get so much positive feedback with my second ever public fanfiction but its been an amazing experience.

That being said, I'd like to ask you guys to be a bit patient. No one is asking anything of me and I genuinely appreciate that you guys let me work at my own pace, but the pace I've set for myself is one I've been struggling to meet.

I started this fanfiction when I was deep in a Clone High hyperfixation, and with the memes dying out so quickly on tiktok I've struggled to get enough stimulation for it to be as intense as it was before. I still love clone high, don't get me wrong! But I don't know how well I know the characters anymore, maybe a rewatch is in order? 

That being said, with the passion not being as strong as before and my suddenly busy schedule I've had a hard time remembering and making time for writing these chapters. I've not been meeting my own standards and the last 2 chapters have been some of my least favorite. This is the direction I wanted to go in but not the way I wanted to do it.

I want to take a bit more time writing my future chapters, that may mean longer periods in between chapters (though I am scared I'll forget without a deadline and just accidentally abandon this fanfiction and suddenly reappear months later and I very much so want to avoid this).

I'm also thinking about possible rewriting and revamping chapters that im not entirely happy with, though this will take much longer and you'd have to possibly reread said chapters.

One thing I want to make clear is that I absolutely do not plan to abandon this story. if I suddenly go from updating once a week to every 3 weeks don't worry! I would never imagine abandoning this story. And if I did id make it absolutely clear.

I really hope you guys understand, I am going to try and take a couple of days to make the next chapter (the last couple were in slightly more than 24 hours :/) and hopefully I'll be providing much better content after that.

Thank you so much for sticking with me! I appreciate all of you guys so much!

~ Jellyrump


	11. Well, gay idiots are called that for a reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's get emotionally mature up in here!!!

Vincent didn't see JFK for the rest of the day.

He couldn't believe he'd let himself yell at JFK like that, that should've been saved for a therapy appointment. Vincent could've waited two days, or so he had thought.

"Hey, Vinnie! You want me to drive you home?" Cleo asked as she walked up to Vincent, no Abe in sight.

"Um, sure. But only if you want to."

"Of course! What else are friends for?"

Oof. Strange concept, Vincent decided. He never thought Cleo would consider him a friend, let alone Vincent would begin to feel the same.

The car had, unsurprisingly, not changed much since that morning. Same leather interior, same fuzzy pink steering wheel, same scrunchies on the gear shift.

"So, what's got you down, Vinnie?" She questioned Vincent with a cold undertone, he didn't know why the question felt like such a threat. She was clearly asking about his well being.

"I- um… I screwed up with JFK. Let out my pent up rage on him." Vincent fidgeted with the hem of his cardigan. The atmosphere suddenly grew warmer and Vincent felt his muscles untense.

"Oh, I've done that. He gets over it pretty quick, just give him a day and it's like it never happened."

"... _I'm sorry?_ "

"For what?" Cleo turned to Vincent at a red light.

"Cleo, that's seriously not ok." Vincent sat up straighter.

"What do you mean? You literally just said you did the same. Plus, he's always been perfectly fine." The light turned green and she continued driving.

"No he's not. Jesus, Cleo, you've _taught_ him to respond that way. He's not actually ok."

"How would you know that?"

"Cleo, have you ever looked at his face when you would yell at him?"

"I don't think there was ever a particular instance, why?"

"Because when I did he was _crying_."

Cleo went silent before pulling into the nearest parking lot, which so happened to be a Wendy's.

"He was?" She asked, voice soft as she turned to face Vincent. The static in the air was back.

"Yeah. He was. I made him cry, and I'm willing to bet that means you probably did too." Vincent wanted to nail this into Cleo's head. They had both hurt JFK.

"Oh… I didn't realise."

"Yeah, neither did I, until I actually looked him in the eye."

Cleo stared at her hands for a moment before looking back at Vincent.

"How do I make it ok?"

"You'd have to ask him. I'm still figuring it out myself."

"Oh…" she stared out of her windshield, suddenly the static washed away once more "You want to get frosties? Maybe we could get one for JFK?"

"I think that it… may be best if we leave JFK alone for now, let him come to us when he's ready." As much as Vincent wanted to text JFK and apologize and as much as it sucked feeling so guilty JFK needed his space.

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"Until then can you just drop me off? I think I need to be alone for a while."

"Yeah, sure."

Neither spoke much more the rest of the drive.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

A little while after JFK had talked to Hamilton his dads arrived, apparently a broken nose warrants a trip to the hospital.

"Jack, honey, what in the world happened?" Wally asked from the passenger's seat of his dads' Subaru.

"Don't worry, gay foster dads. You should see the other guy!" JFK tried to lighten the mood. He'd always been able to distract his dads with the Kennedy charm, and he'd taken this to his advantage more than once.

"I don't know, Jack. I saw that Hamilton kid and he didn't look all that roughed up."

"Well- er uh- I hurt him emotionally! Stole the boy he was going for." JFK said, hoping to brush it off. He knew he had majorly screwed up when the words left his mouth and both of his dads visibly perked up.

" _Boy?_ "

" _Emotionally?_ "

"Oh Jack!" Wally clasped his hands as he turned to look at his son, "You're finally coming into your own!"

"I- er uh-"

"Oh, Carl, this is great! Who is it, Jack? Oh, I bet it's that Van Gogh boy! Oh he was just so sweet, perfect for our little Jacky." Wally exclaimed, Carl joined in.

"Finally, Jack! This'll be good for ya, give you some diversity in your love life."

"Actually…"

"'Actually'?" Carl questioned.

"I'm not sure what's happening with him anymore, we- uh- kinda got into a fight today." It felt crude to think of it as the couple's quarrel that his dads would think of it as, but he wasn't entirely sure how to explain the situation. 

"Oh, honey. You guys will get through it. I mean, look at your father and I! We used to fight like cats and dogs back in the day, but now we work together like a well oiled machine." Wally tried to encourage his son.

"It's more complicated than that," JFK scratched the back of his neck as he looked for the words, "He… wants me to be mad at him? He got really upset and let it out on me, and i don't know what I did but he felt bad and told me to 'feel mad' before I talked to him." JFK laid his hands in his lap as he finished speaking. 

"Oh, Jack… you have a type, don't you?" Wally said, reaching around his seat to put a hand on JFK's knee, "You do know why he said that, right?"

"Kinda? I know that he shouldn't have taken his anger out on me like that, I wasn't the majority of his problem."

"Yeah, but… doesn't this sound familiar?"

"What do you mean?" JFK asked his father. He saw Carl's frown as he asked, and Wally gave him a sympathetic look. Then it clicked. "Wait, you mean Cleo?"

"She never did treat you right, son" Carl huffed from his seat.

JFK supposed they were right, but he hadn't even realised that Cleo had vented at him that often. It wasn't enough to be a concern of his, obviously, but enough that his dads had heard her yelling in his room.

He could understand what Vincent meant by feeling like he didn't have control over his life anymore, or in JFK's, like he never had control in the first place.

He truly never realised how much he let people walk on him, like he was a silly little doll to play with. Everyone wanted him to be their version of JFK, no one seemed to care enough to pay attention to the one right in front of them. Except Vincent, maybe, but at this point he wasn't sure anymore.

Actually, he hated how much he missed the shorter boy. He knew that Vincent was right about JFK being mad, and he _was_ mad, but why did that mean that he couldn't forgive him? He was used to it, he understood, what else was there?

After getting his nose bandaged up JFK sat down to do his homework. Proving to be a fruitless endeavor, he called Joan instead.

"Hey, JFK." Joan muttered into the phone, JFK could practically hear the disappointment in her voice. 

He could understand her opinion on him, JFK had harassed Joan for the better half of a year. 

"Hey, Joan. How ya been?" 

Joan paused before answering.

"Do you want the genuine answer or the happy answer?" She finally asked.

"The genuine one, please. I think I need some reality for once."

"Oh. Ok, well… I don't like that Abe and Cleo are together. If I'm being completely honest… Actually, can I tell you something? But you can't tell anyone!"

"Go ahead, Joanie."

"...I've been in love with Abe for years."

"Oh, I knew that."

" _You did?_ "

"Yeah, you've confessed like 3 times. Haven't you?:

"Yeah, but…"

"I thought I was the 'oblivious gay' here. Or, het, I guess."

"Well…"

"Bi?"

"... Yeah. Bi."

"Oh, cool. I think I am too.

"Oh, yeah. I kinda figured." 

"Yeah…"

The conversation lulled, neither really knowing what to say.

"So… do you think I should talk to Abe?" Joan asked.

"I'm not sure, he is dating Cleo after all."

"Yeah, that's true. And after hanging out with her I've learned that… she's not that bad."

"Funny, I've learned the complete opposite. Heh."

"What do you mean?"

"Cleo didn't treat me very well during our relationship, I didn't really realise until now."

"Yeah, she didn't treat you very well, huh? I guess we just haven't seen the same version of her."

"Should there even be different versions of people?"

"I think everyone has versions of themselves. You just hope for the people who see the version that you really are."

"Yeah…"

Was that Vincent? Did him immediately coming to kind mean anything or was he just being hopeful? 

"Shit. Toots is making dinner, I gotta go make sure he doesn't start a fire again, call you later?"

"Sure."

"Ok, bye!"

"Bye-" Joan hung up before JFK could finish his sentence.

He pushed his desk chair away, standing up and flopping down onto his bed.

He couldn't stop thinking, things had become so absurdly complicated. His social life was a weird spider web of emotions, he almost felt like he should draw it out.

Actually… that wasn't too bad of an idea.

JFK pulled a notebook from his book bag and scribbled out how he felt towards everyone, the spider web slowly detangling as he deciphered his feelings towards people.

To make it short, Cleo had wronged him and he only just realised. He would need some time healing and accepting that.

Vincent also had hurt him, but it was definitely a misunderstanding. He'd need to talk to him.

And Joan had felt distant, so she might not be doing her best.

Finally feeling the clouds clear from his head as he laid down, JFK took a nap. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

Vincent sighed as he unlocked his front door, immediately calling for his mom.

"Yes, honey?" She called from the kitchen. Vincent saw her chopping up the beginning to a stew as he walked in, "How was school, Vinnie?"

He felt the tears well in his eyes as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Mom… I really screwed up with JFK." he rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, sitting down on a stool at the island.

His mom put the kitchen knife down, grabbing Vincent's hand instead.

"Lay it on me."

Vincent told her about the fake dating, becoming friends with Cleo, the physical fight, and the stupid fight he himself had caused.

"I don't know what to do mom… I really screwed this up. I practically confessed whilst digging into him."

"And you want him to be mad at you?"

"God, yes! He let Cleo get away with everything, and everyone saw how that panned out. It wasn't healthy, and all I want for and from him is a happy relationship. I won't even bother otherwise."

His mom looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"I raised such an emotionally mature child." She hummed.

"Thanks, it's the mental illness."

"Vincent! Anyways, I'm glad you know where you stand on this but please, for the love of God, _talk to him_. Go now if you have to."

"But it hasn't even been a day, and I want JFK to come to me when he's ready."

"Well, yeah, come to you when he's ready to forgive you. Talk to him until then, nurse him to forgiveness. And stick to accountability."

"...Ok, I think I'll call him. Just to make sure he's ok."

"Thank goodness, Vincent. Have a fucking conversation."

He reeled in surprised at his mother swearing, before smiling and hugging her.

"Thank you mom" he pulled away.

"Anytime, hon. Now go get him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, I'm so sorry that this took so long!! I've honestly fallen out of Clone High, but I plan to finish this fic! Just took a bit of motivation.
> 
> There will probably only be a couple more chapters, this is probably the beginning of the end. I want to thank you all for sticking with me so far. I'll try to write the next couple if chapters in a reasonable amount of time!!


	12. Damn, ok, emotions are swag i guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THEY FINALLY TALK!!! thank GOD I can not do angst very well

Vincent steeled himself as he sat on his bed, fiddling with his phone as he stared at JFK's number.

"Come on, just call him. Apologize to him and get things back on good terms…" but what if he couldn't? What if JFK hated him now?

It was worth the risk, and the suspense of not knowing would absolutely kill him.

He finally pressed the call button, hearing the phone ring for a bit. And it rang. And rang. 

And rang.

Vincent felt tears well in his eyes. JFK had every right not to answer, all the reasoning in the world as well, but he had hoped…

Whatever, he'll just paint to occupy his mind.

Vincent gathered up purples and red before sitting in front of a painting he hadn't touched in months. He had abandoned at the beginning of the semester, it was a long project he started impulsively without much planning.

It was a vineyard with a red sky looming over it. Vincent wasn't entirely sure what the symbolism was, and at this point he couldn't find the energy to care.

He was working on the detailing of a group on grape vines when his phone rang.

_JFK calling..._

SHIT. shit shit shit. Oh shit he's calling. Ok.

Vincent ran to his bed and answered.

"Hello?" 

"Hey, Vincent! Sorry I didn't answer earlier, I was napping."

It felt nice to hear his name come from JFK's mouth again, it felt like forever since he had heard him say it.

"Oh, sorry." Vincent heard himself apologize for the wrong reason.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Uh…" Vincent was sorry, just not for that. "Fair point. Listen, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh! Uh- I wanted to talk to you as well. I just happened to fall asleep before I could." Panic mode, oh god.

"Oh, great. Um-" Vincent spoke just as JFK did.

"So-"

"I'm sorry, you go first."

"No, you go ahead."

"Ok, um," Vincent took a deep breath, taking a moment before speaking. "I just wanted to say that… I'm sorry for what I said earlier, it was uncalled for. And saying you should be mad was a stupid wedge to put. I mean I want you to be upset, but we should be able to talk about it as well." He felt like he could breathe again. "What were you going to say?"

"I- er uh- wanted to say that I forgive you. You shouldn't have yelled at me, but you taking responsibility tells me you care. And… I'm sorry for how I acted as well. I shouldn't have pushed you away because I assumed how you felt."

"I guess we were both kind of wrong, huh?" Vincent smiled to himself as he picked at the hem of his shirt.

"I guess a little, yeah." JFK let out a soft puff of a laugh.

"Can I say something, JFK?" Vincent stopped picking at his shirt, putting careful effort into his words.

" 'Course, Vinnie."

"I… are you sure you forgive me? You're ready to?"

"Yeah, I'll be more wary if you do this again. But right now, I forgive you."

Vincent felt himself flush at the words, as well as the ones he was about to say.

"Great, then… I wanted to say that I like you, more than a friend, as lame of a way that is to say it. I wasn't upset when I cried at the party, I was just overwhelmed with sudden emotions. I hadn't realised until then"

"Oh…" shit, wrong move. Vincent just messed up everything.

"Yeah… it's ok if you don't like me back-"

"No! No. I mean- er- yes, I do like you back. A lot."

_Oh._

"Oh." Vincent breathed out, "Um-"

"Do you want to go on a date, this Friday?"

"Oh! Y-yes. I'd love that."

"Great! I'll pick you up at 7?"

"Pm?"

"Is that alright?"

"Yeah! Yes, that is perfectly fine."

"Ok, great. See you tomorrow then, Vinnie."

Shit, need to come up with a cute nickname.

"See you tomorrow, Johnny."

"Oh- er- yeah! Yeah, tomorrow." 

Vincent could hear JFK stammer as he hung up, secretly taking satisfaction in his flustered state. He could feel the smile on his face and the way his cheeks burned, and it probably wasn't going away anytime soon.

"JFK likes me. Holy _shit_ , JFK likes me." He buried his face in his hands as he felt his stomach flip. 

Man, that went far better than he expected.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

JFK's face burned as his phone call with Vincent ended.

" _Johnny_ " kept ringing in his ears. As many nicknames he had doled out he never got one in return. He wondered if Vincent's ever burning cheeks were influenced when JFK called him Vinnie. Though he was thinking a new nickname was in order, how could he top Johnny?

I mean, sure, Johnny sounded like something his aunt would call him, but hearing it come from Vincent was like having someone caressing his face. As strange as that sounded.

Sunflower pertained too much to the original Van Gogh, and he would never be able to hold a torch to his Vinnie- _his Vinnie_. God, that sounded nice. 

He could go with the sun angle though, he could practically feel the sun whenever he thought of Vincent. Like a warmth that started at his stomach and spread up the back of his neck, rolling over his shoulders and settling on his chest.

Speaking of, now he had to plan out a date. JFK knew what he was getting himself into when he suggested one, but he definitely suggested it spur of the moment. 

What was something Vincent would enjoy? He was all artsy and stuff, and he definitely didn't like big crowds. So something more secluded and less artificial maybe? Nature was nice, but what were the risks of someone seeing them and starting something? JFK was decently popular across town, and he'd hate if Vincent got hurt.

There was stargazing, that'd be pretty cool. The stars also reminded JFK of Vincent, but he was beginning to think everything did.

Deciding that it was a good idea, but an imperfect concept, JFK sat in his desk chair and turned on his computer, beginning to research constellations and the open hours of the planetarium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!!!!! I figured the date could serve as an epilogue of sorts, a nice lil bow on this gay ass story. 
> 
> I'm sorry the chapters have been shorter as well, there's not much more story to tell, but these all felt like separate moments. So I posted them that way
> 
> Anyways, thank you guys for sticking this far! I'm gonna try and make the next chapter very nice for you all, I really appreciate it


	13. Author's note again!!

Hey guys!

I wanna start off by saying that I'm super sorry, i didn't even realise that I apparently last updated in November. Like, holy shit that's a long time.

Life's been super busy, I've picked up a lot of hobbies and haven't been focusing on writing as much. That being said I absolutely want to give this story an ending. I'm working on that as we speak.

I want to thank you guys for reading until the end, it means a lot to me and if I could tell 12 year old closet writer me that people would be so kind towards my work they'd be so happy.

These lil gay guys will have a happy ending, I promise.

~Jellyrump

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading the first chapter, hope you enjoyed!  
> I also want to mention that I didnt choose Alexander Hamilton bc of the musical. I used to love it but I'm quite a bit past that and just thought the character fit.  
> Also my mom thought it'd be a good idea :p


End file.
